The (Sometimes) Mighty Bucks
by Bob Wright
Summary: Buck Russell agrees to coach his nephew Miles's hockey team. The Chicago sports scene will never be the same, for better or worse. Can Shermer's adopted favorite uncle go the distance with his new team and show that every underdog has his day?
1. Chapter 1

THE (SOMETIMES) MIGHTY BUCKS

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have a had a basic kernel of this story fermenting in my mind for some years now; the present, I feel, is the right time to begin telling it. And for those of you with bad tastes in your mouths from the recent failed television adaptation, allow me to help wash it out by going back to the true version of Buck Russell as played to perfection by John Candy, and his world.

Uncle Buck and all related characters and indicia-at least the true versions thereof to be shown here-are registered trademarks of Universal City Studios and the John Hughes Estate, or similar related entity(ies). And now, as always, sit back and enjoy the story.

* * *

"Close/Alexander Advertising Agency; how may I help you?" droned the receptionist on the other end of the phone line.

"Yes, you can certainly help," said the large rotund man, leaning back in his chair behind his desk with a smile, 'My name's Buck Russell, and I'm the sales rep here at Kobalowski Tires on West Eighty-Ninth Street. I just started a few months ago, and let me say..."

"Sir, does this call have a point?" the receptionist asked impatiently.

"Oh, uh, yeah. The reason I'm calling is that Kobalowski Tires is easily the best tire and auto parts store in the entire greater Chicago area," Buck told her, "This is due to the tremendous efforts of the owner, the lovely Chanice Kobalowski. She has authorized me to look for advertisers to expand our outreach, and since you're the biggest one in all of Chicago, we feel you're best for our services. We'd like to..."

"All right, you're going to want to talk to Mr. Close. Please hold while I put him on the line," the receptionist told him. Elevator music permeated the line. Buck glanced at the clock on his office's opposite wall. Ten minutes to closing time. While he was eager to get out of work for the day, he was hoping this call would bear fruit for the garage, as he'd struck out on four other attempts thus far in the afternoon.

Hooking an elbow around the phone to keep it to his ear, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out the latest issue of Sheriff Bud Boomer, Epsilon Force. His nephew had been a fan of the comic, and Buck had found he too was entranced by the comical adventures of a small town sheriff and his deputies pressed into international service by the president's National Security Advisor for missions using personnel considered expendable. Flicking through the pages, he came to where he'd left off, where Boomer and his crew had been captured by international weapons smuggler Oleg Mountanski. "OK, Boomer, let's see how you get out of this one," he mused, squinting at the page. Suspended over a crocodile pit, Boomer was pressing his belt buckle to activate a magnet to bring the keys over to him-but the magnet was proving too strong, and everything metal within range was being yanked over as well. This, however, was enough to smash the guards in the face and knock them out, one of them knocking the keys into the sheriff's grasp anyway. "YEEEE-HHAAAAAWWW, thattaboy, Boomer!" Buck cheered, too caught up in the comic to hear the line clicking back on. "What's going on over there?" inquired a distinguished man's voice.

"What? Oh, uh, sorry, there, uh, I'm, uh, Buck Russell," Buck quickly snapped back to reality, "You, uh, ever read Bud Boomer comics?"

"OK, I can tell this call isn't worth my time if you're not going to approach it seriously, sir. Good day," the man told him off briskly.

"No, don't hang up, I've...!" Buck pleas were to no avail, as the line cut off. Groaning, he slumped his head on the desk at the missed deal-right as the door opened and his boss entered. "So how's the deal with Close/Alexander going, Buck?" Chanice Kobalowski pressed him.

"The what? Oh, yeah, uh, Close/Alexander," Buck said, sweating, "Uh, well, yeah, Chanice, I did call them, but, um, there were a couple complications..."

"Oh no you didn't," Chanice slapped both hands to her face, "You did not just blow a sure fire deal with the biggest ad agency in town, Buck; tell me you did not just blow this deal!?"

Buck laughed uncomfortably, unable to come up with a good immediate answer. "Um...it looked like I was going to be on hold for a while, and I figured I might as well read Miles's latest Bud Boomer issue..." he settled with the essential truth.

"Buck, how many times have I told you to leave work and pleasure separate!?" Chanice thundered, seizing the comic book from his desk and hurling it into the trash can, "I've told you before, this is a serious position I've hired you for, and if you're not going to take it seriously, I'm going to open it up again for someone who will! Now do you get all that!?"

"Loud and clear, honey," Buck shrank apologetically down in his seat, "The good news is, there's still a couple agencies in the suburbs we haven't tried yet..."

"But I'll make those calls myself; maybe we'll actually get things done, then," Chanice gave him a parting glared before she stormed out of the office. Buck lowered his head to the desk. "I'm trying, Chanice; you know I'm trying," he mumbled softly to himself, "I want the business to succeed same as everyone else, want to make something out of my life. Give me the chance and I'll find it."

His attention was diverted by an engine getting louder outside his window. He looked up and smiled: unless he missed his guess-impossible, since he recognized the now familiar car-his nieces and nephew were dropping in for the day, as had become their custom since the oldest had gotten her driver's license. And indeed, it was Tia exiting the driver's seat now. She flashed a smile at him through the window-which Buck certainly appreciated, given how badly they'd gotten off on the wrong foot when he'd been pressed into service looking after his brother's family during an emergency a while back. Since then, however, their relationship had improved to the point that they often had coffee downtown during weekends and school holidays. "Hey there," she greeted him with some warmth upon entering his office.

"Hey," he raised a hand, "How'd it go today?"

"Decent, although I could care less about half the classes they teach," Tia grumbled, plopped down in the chair across from her uncle's desk, "You?"

"Oh...I've had my ups and downs today," Buck glanced out the window behind his desk at Chanice shouting instructions to somebody over her own office phone, "Unfortunately down lately, though. Maybe my luck'll improve later on."

"So you're going back to the track, Uncle Buck?" his younger niece asked, helping herself to a gumball from the dispenser on his desk.

"Not today, Maizy; in fact, I've been cutting back since I've reconnected with you guys. I want to give a better image to..." it was now Buck noticed his nephew was slumped over in his own chair, looking depressed. "Something wrong, Miles?" he got up and walked over.

"I quit the hockey team," Miles mumbled softly, "We got blown out 23-1 by Kenilworth on Saturday, and the coach screamed at half of us to take a hike. I missed an easy goal, so he really took it out on me, telling me I didn't belong."

"Oh did he now?" Buck's brow tightened, "Well, you know he's wrong, Miles; from what I hear, you're one of the best players out there. Sorry I couldn't make any games so far, but Aunt Chanice likes me to work Saturday afternoons..."

"Thanks, UB, but he's right; I'm just not good enough," Miles sighed, "And hockey was supposed to be the bridge for me after we moved from Indianapolis; instead, it's becoming dead weight. Coach almost made me quit after we first moved; I gave it another try after you showed up, but maybe it's time to give it up."

"Well I'll tell you something, Miles; it's not time. Because nobody puts down my favorite nephew like that and gets away with it," determination crossed Buck's face, "When's the next practice?"

"Would be in about an hour or so, but..."

"OK, you and your sisters come with me; we're going to make sure you're back on that team and treated with respect," Buck grabbed for his coat.

"I appreciate it, UB, but it's not really necessary..."

"Hey, I stood up for Maizy here when her principal tried to put her down, so it's only fair I do the same for you. Chanice, hold my calls," he held up a hand at his employer when she approached his office door, "I've got some emergency uncling to do."

"Buck, you're not bailing early; I've told you that you work a full shift for me...!" Chanice shouted, but Buck paid no heed, holding open the garage's front door for his nephew and nieces. "Be right back, Chanice," he called back to her, "I've just got something to set right here."


	2. Chapter 2

"You sure you know what you're doing here?" Tia asked Buck with concern as he pulled his car into the parking lot of the Shermer Fifth Street Skating Rink, "Taking on a full grown man is a lot different than with Bug; he's not liable to go down without a fight."

"Trust me, Tia; I know how to handle bullies of all sizes...hold it a minute, Maizy," Buck held up a hand at her before she could open the car door. He raised the hand higher, then jerked it down the instant the car's tailpipe backfired with a loud bang. "Time it out right every time," he grinned, hopping out of the car and popping the trunk open. "The drill?" Tia frowned over his shoulder, seeing what he was extracting, "I don't think that'll scare him."

"Well, one way to find out," Buck slipped the drill into his coat pocket and walked briskly towards the rink. Immediately, his ears were hit with an angry barrage of shouting: "Come on, you slowpoke losers, get going!" He frowned towards the ice, where a dozen or so kids wearing threadbare blue and white uniforms were stumbling around, firing pucks that missed the net by wide margins or falling down on their backs. "We're not a good team anyway," Miles explained to his uncle, "So you can understand why Coach gets upset."

"You call that shooting!? I want to see effort, damn it!" the wild eyed man in the blue jacket in the middle of the ice bellowed at some of the shooters. He grabbed one skating by him and shooting at the goal by the shoulder. "What the hell are you shooting on this play for!? I said you always pass it to Larry! He's the only one of you clowns worth anything, so he should always get the puck!" he screeched.

"Larry?" Buck inquired to his nephew.

"Coach's son," Miles pointed him out, "He puts him above everyone else."

"Understandably so, but of course that can be taken too far-like that!" Buck grimaced as the coach grabbed one player who'd fallen down at his feet and hauled him up. "I've said to keep a balance at all times, you filthy loser! I've had enough of you; take a hike!" he roared, punctuating this, by slapping the boy hard. "OK, that's it. Everyone follow me," rage on his own face, Buck stormed onto the ice. "Excuse me, I take it you're in charge here!?" he asked the coach loudly.

"Coach Ted Bartholomew; yeah, I'm in charge, and who the hell are you!?" the coach glared him down.

"Buck Russell's the name, and it's come to my attention you kicked my nephew Miles off your team this past week without a second thought," Buck growled, gesturing Miles forward.

"I certainly did; the little reject couldn't do anything right, and I have no use for him on this team. So take him and get lost," Bartholomew told him off, giving Miles a rough glare.

"Actually, I'm not the one who's going to take off," Buck glared back at him, "You see, coaching takes a lot of things, but most of all, the courage never to hit a kid when they fail. You OK, son?" he bent down to pick up the boy who'd been struck.

"Yeah, I'm all right," the boy nodded, shaken.

"So then get off this rink; you're out of here!" Bartholomew yelled at him.

"Oh he's staying this team," Buck leaned right in Bartholomew's face, "It's you that's leaving, COACH. Pick up your things, get off this ice, and never bother any of these kids again."

"Who do you think you are, threatening me, you big dumb ox!? I won six Chicago area titles under Dick Richards at Kenilworth as a player, so I know a lot more about this game than you ever will, so you have no business telling me to...!"

"Say, Tia, do you see a little bit of plaque on this guy's teeth?" Buck asked his niece deviously.

"Oh yeah," Tia nodded, her face showing acceptance with taking this next step, "Lots of tartar too."

"That's just what I thought. I think I'll have to operate right now. Buck pulled out the drill and turned it on. "What the hell are you doing!?" Bartholomew's eyes went wide.

"I'm an amateur dentist, and I think your teeth need a major operation right now," Buck grinned, advancing towards him with the drill, "So, I have to ask, is it safe?"

"Get that thing away from me, you maniac!" Bartholomew backed away from him, terrified.

"Get off this ice and resign as coach, and I will," Buck laid out his ultimatum, thrusting the drill forward. Bartholomew yelped in terror. "Come on, Larry let's get out of here!" he grabbed his son's arm and ran like crazy for the exit. All the players cheered and surrounded Buck. "Thanks, we couldn't stand him," one boy told him happily.

"Yeah, I got that impression," Buck told them, "Glad to help. Oh, and Miles is back on the team too, so you can play with him too-if he still wants to play, of course," he turned to his nephew for confirmation.

"If you got rid of Coach, I'd sure like to, UB," Miles was smiling now, to his uncle's pleasure. "I've probably told you guys this already, but this is the best uncle any kid could ask for," he told the other players.

"How about he coaches us going forward, then?" another boy proposed.

"Me?" Buck frowned, "Well, I..."

"You'll certainly do better than the other guy, Uncle Buck," Maizy chimed in behind him. And Buck could see most of the other heads on the ice nodding as well. "Sure, why not?" he shrugged, to more cheers from the kids, "It's certainly worth a try. Uh, what time's practice every day?"

"Four thirty Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; games Saturday afternoons," Miles told him.

"OK, yeah, I think I could make that work. All right team, that's it for today," Buck told his new team, "Meet you here same time tomorrow-uh, Wednesday while I get up to speed on a few things."

* * *

"Hockey coaching, Buck?" Chanice raised her eyebrows at him incredulously.

"I could tell those kids needed me, Chanice," Buck argued, pacing around the living room of his new house on Tottoa Lane in Shermer. He had been looking to move to the town after his emergency stay with his brother's family to be closer to them, and as luck would have it, one house had opened very quickly within the price range of his Kobalowski Tires salary. True, that was because it had sustained some damage from its previous owner, who, he'd heard, had gone mental with rage after finding one of his prized cars wrecked and started throwing objects and firing his gun around the house. Fortunately, no one had been injured before the police had shown up to haul him off to prison for what would be a five year sentence for reckless endangerment. For the moment, Buck had covered over the holes in the walls with pictures, but the large hole in the back of the garage, which the car had apparently crashed through, remained, waiting for him to fix it somehow. But large holes or not, the house was still an upgrade from the noise and congestion of downtown Chicago, and its heavily wooded location offered plenty of peace and quiet. "And I'd like you as my top assistant, too," he told his fiancé, digging through a cabinet.

"Now wait a minute, Buck..." Chanice held up her hand.

"It'll be the perfect way to get free advertising for the garage," he argued, drawing a large bag of dog food from the cabinet, "And you said you played a little as a kid, so you'd have lots of pointers to share."

"Well I WANTED to play for a while, but..."

"There, like I said. Supper time, Cecil," Buck called loudly into the kitchen. A large German shepherd trotted out on cue. Buck poured half the bag of dog food into a large punch bowl, which the dog lapped up eagerly. "Are you going to get him a license soon?" Chanice asked with raised eyebrows, "Sooner or later if no one comes to claim him, you're going to have to."

"I'm working on it, Chanice. Nobody's called for Cecil in the last two weeks; one more week, then I'm claiming him. After bonding with Percy over at Bob's, I wanted a dog of my own, so maybe it was meant to be that I almost flattened him in that alley down the street from the garage," Buck rubbed Cecil affectionately behind the ears, "Anyway, like I was saying, the kids are already lined up for this; Maizy agreed to be the stick and puck girl, and Tia'll handle the stats..."

"Thought she failed math last quarter?" Chanice's eyes narrowed, "And let me point out one king-sized problem with your whole plan here, Buck: you don't know jack squat about hockey."

"Well, no, but I'm going to learn as much as I can. I'll watch every Blackhawks game on WGN they air. Oh, and I stopped by the Chicago Public Library and checked out as many books on the subject they had," Buck gestured at a large stack of books on the coffee table.

"Let me see this," Chanice snatched up several, "Coaching Hockey for Idiots...The Moron's Guide to Hockey...A Dummy's History of the National Hockey League...Irv Blitzer's How to Be Lightning on Ice!?" she held up the last book incredulously.

"Hey, if the guy could take four Jamaicans and make them a lean, mean Olympic bobsled machine, any advice he'd have to give is bound to help," Buck countered, "And I've got a load of ideas to make both the practices and games more fun; I'd like..."

"Hold on a minute, please," Chanice held up her hand, "Just tell me one thing, Buck: why are you doing this, really? What do you want to get out of this?"

"Well, I'm trying to be the good uncle and good adult figure, Chanice, just like you always say you want me to be," Buck shrugged, "I'm trying to make my life mean something positive, to show I'm not just the lazy bum they sometimes think I am. Besides, it's clear Miles's teammates have had it hard; if I can make their hockey games that much more enjoyable for them, that'll make me know I'm good. Plus, I'm doing this for the town of Shermer too. Ever since I've come here, I've fallen in love with the place; here in town, people still smile, they help each other. It's exactly the kind of place I've wanted to live; I just didn't realize it till now. So if I can make this team a winner, that'll be my way of telling everyone here thanks for taking me in. So I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is, maybe I'm overreacting, but I'm going from experience here, Buck; something will inevitably go wrong, very, very, very wrong, and I'm going to be left looking like a fool because of it," Chanice sputtered, "I know you mean well, Buck, and I'm glad you're taking an initiative, but I just have the feeling in the pit of my stomach that doing this will backfire on everyone. And I'm going to get hit hardest."

"Now come on, honey, you know I'd never let anything happen to you," Buck put an arm around her, "I care for you too much to do that."

"I know you do, Buck, but it usually ends up that way anyway."

"So you're passing up the chance to be the good aunt to be with Miles? You know that Cindy's still not sold on you; this would be a good chance to get in her good graces," Buck prodded her, "And like I said, this is an easy way to expand the garage's reputation."

This had apparently worked; Chanice let out a low sigh. "All right, Buck, I'll do it," she conceded, "But," she held up a finger in his face, "do not embarrass me in any way, or you'll be looking for a new job-or, if you really embarrass me, a new girlfriend. Understood?"

"You got it," Buck hugged her close, "OK, now that I've got you on board, I can bring the rest of the gang into this as well. I already called Roger; he's more than glad to help..."

"Sure, he's got nothing better to do anyway. Why am I already regretting this?" Chanice rolled her eyes.

"I'm calling on Rocco and Lloyd tomorrow too," Buck continued, pulling a slice of chocolate cake out of another drawer and dropping that into Cecil's bowl for "dessert," "Rocco knows all about getting maximum speed with all the time he spends with the trainers at the track; Lloyd's the best shot teacher I know..."

"Now I _know_ I'm going to regret this," Chanice threw up her hands in disgust, "No offense, Buck, but bringing in a gambling-addicted pari-mutual clerk and a drunken golf pro to coach these kids is asking for trouble in a big way; I mean, compared to them, you're practically a saint."

"Well, they're a little rough around the edges, but they've been looking for meaning in their lives too, so this might give them the opportunity to get a fresh start, just like looking after Bob's kids did for me," Buck argued, "Anyway, I called Shermer City Hall this afternoon too; Mayor Oaks's kid's on the team, so he promised to try and pull some strings when I requested we move the home games to the Shermer Convention Center; the rink they play in's a dump, so any upgrade'll do them good. The mayor thinks he can clear the convention center for us rent free. And that gave me a good idea for a new more dramatic introduction for..."

"OK, well, I'd better get going," Chanice took a quick glance at her watch, "I have an appointment with the company's accounting firm at eight sharp, as I pointed out earlier today. Don't overdo it, Buck, please; I'll help for Miles's sake, but I know there's a risk involved here that could turn very bad."

"Oh you worry too much, Chanice," Buck gave her a parting hug, "Tell mommy goodbye, Cecil," he gestured the dog forward. Chanice petted him, her eyes shooting towards the kitchen. "You've been having him sleep in the dishwasher!?" she asked with raised eyebrows, noticing the blanket sticking out of it and the water bowl on the floor in front of it.

"It's broken anyway, so until I get him a proper bed, it'll do fine," Buck protested, "Besides, if he's going to be living with me, he deserves the best."

"Mmm hmm," she mumbled, "Good night, Buck."

"See you tomorrow morning," Buck waved goodbye to her with a smile. "I'll tell you, Cecil, I'm feeling more energized about this coaching job than anything in a good long while," he told the dog, plopped down on the sofa and patting it to get Cecil to jump up with him, "I think I'm really going to make a difference with this. But don't you worry; I've got plans for you in this as well, so you just still with me, and you'll be in real good shape."

Cecil barked and licked his new owner's face. "Of course, you realize we'll have to stop betting on the horses for the season, right?" Buck warned him, "I have to be dead serious about turning myself around, so no racetrack betting for now..." his eyes zeroed in on the clock, bonging seven o'clock, "...but of course, the lottery's still good," he declared, flicking on the TV, which was showing the beginning of the Illinois Lottery's nightly drawing. "Let's see if we've got a winner tonight," he drew a pair of lottery tickets and stared intently at the numbers on them. "Nope, not tonight," he shook his head as different numbers were drawn. "Oh well, you keep them," he handed Cecil the tickets, and one of his books, "Here, you read one, I'll read one; by bedtime, we'll be up to speed on hockey enough to coach effectively."


	3. Chapter 3

It was two thirty the following afternoon when Buck pulled up to a low house on the edge of Cedar Creek Golf Club on the western end of Chicago's suburbs. Brown and covered with snow patches, the course was deserted, but another car was parked out front, and Buck smiled as he got out to see who was waiting beside it. "Hey, Roger, good to see you again," he declared.

"Buck, old pal, how's it going?" E. Roger Coswell slapped his hand, "You're actually serious about this whole hockey coaching business?"

"Yeah, I am, Rog. And I haven't felt this energized in a long time. So I wanted to be able to share it with you and Chanice; she's on board, mostly, and you'd said you could do it..."

"Hey, anything for you, Buck, you know that," Roger nodded, "True, I don't have a clue how hockey's fundamentals are supposed to work..."

"Not to worry; I brought all the books I checked out from the library," Buck gestured at the stack in his back seat, right as the car backfired loudly again. "And if Lloyd was asleep, that'll wake him up for sure," he said, trudging towards the house.

"Let's just hope the guy's at least passably sober," Roger cautioned him, "You know how much Lloyd gets roaring drunk during the winter months when nobody's golfing."

"Well, you know Lloyd; he snaps out of it pretty quick," Buck rang the bell. There was no response. He turned the knob, and the door swung open. "Yep, he's drinking good now," he shook his head at Roger. And indeed, bottles of whiskey were strewn all over the front room, in the corner of which a gray haired man was snoring loudly on the sofa, a partially filled bottle still in his hand. "Lloyd, wake up," Buck clapped his hands next to the man's ear. He remained asleep. "Lloyd, it's Buck, time to wake up," he shook the man's chest. Lloyd bolted upright in a flash. "I swear she was older than eighteen, officer!" he shouted in a heavy Irish accent, deepened with an alcoholic slur. He squinted at Buck. "How'd you get in here, Father O'Callahan?" he mumbled drunkenly.

"Uh, no, it's me, Buck, remember?" Buck leaned close to his face. "Buck who?" Lloyd squinted harder.

"Go make some coffee, Roger," Buck told his friend with a shake of the head. Roger ambled off towards the kitchen. "It's your old pal Buck; we golf together here every weekend, remember?" Buck sat down next to him, "And wasn't Rosemary supposed to keep you off the hard booze?" he frowned at all the bottles on the floor.

"She walked out on me, can you believe it?" Lloyd slurred with a wave of his arms, "Twenty-four years of marriage and she just up and leaves, saying she can't respect an out of work golf pro who drinks too much. I don't drink too much, so where do you think she gets...?"

He retched and threw up on the floor. Buck sighed softly. "I knew this was coming, Lloyd, so don't feel bad," he put his arm around the golf pro; a blind man could have seen the disintegration of Lloyd's marriage over the last year, "But drinking yourself to death's not the way out. I've got a way you might be able to step up from rock bottom where you are now."

"I'm perfectly fine the way I am now...and who are you again?" Lloyd frowned at him.

"Buck; we golf every weekend," Buck reminded him, waving his arms towards Roger in the kitchen to speed up the coffee, "Anyway, once we get you sobered up, Lloyd, I've got a proposition for you. I've agreed to coach my nephew's hockey team; they seem to be a little flat on shooting, and since you're the best shooting expert I know, I'd like you as an assistant coach. So what do you say?"

"How much?" Lloyd tried stumbling to his feet.

"Well it's volunteer work, Lloyd; you don't get paid."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because I love my nephew and want to be the best uncle I can. Now I'd like you to help with this as a friend, Lloyd, but if you're going to be too drunk and self-centered, then you should just lay here and let your life atrophy. You know, the more I think of it, you're what I might have ended up if I hadn't gotten that call from Bob to look after the kids," Buck shook his head.

"Self-centered? Who said I was self-centered? I'll do it," Lloyd declared, successfully managing to get to his feet this time, "Tell me where and when, and I'll be the best hockey coach you've seen, even if I'm a golf pro...say, aren't we ripping off that Sad Gilmore film with this?"

"No, and I didn't find the picture that amusing myself, to be honest, so it doesn't matter either way," Roger entered the living room, a coffee cup in hand, "Here, drink up, then come with us; we're going to the track to get Rocco next."

"Good. Look around under the sofa for me; I want to put down fifty bucks on the afternoon race," Lloyd tossed the cushions aside.

"Uh, we're looking to get him as an extra assistant, and we're not gambling if we're coaching, Lloyd," Buck admonished him, "Sorry, but that's my dictum; no betting on the horses for the duration of the season."

"Are you sure you're Buck Russell?" Lloyd frowned at him, "Buck would have plunked down some dough on the horses in a flash."

"Well that was the less responsible Buck Russell. Bring him along, Roger; we've got to get there by post time of the last race of the day."

* * *

An hour later, Buck approached an open pari-mutual window at Arlington Park, where a balding man was bent over, handling receipts with his back to Buck. "Spread 'em or I'll blow your brains out!" Buck jokingly snarled in his best mobster accent. The man jumped in shock and hit the floor. "Don't shoot!" he begged.

"Gotcha!" Buck broke into laughter. "PLEASE don't do that, Buck!" the man admonished him, putting a hand to his heart, "I can't take any scares, not with Tommy Wilder's crew out to get me!"

"Thought you paid him off from last year, Rocco?" Roger leaned over Buck's shoulder with a frown.

"The Winter Million looked like a sure bet; how was I supposed to know Water Balloon would break his leg coming out of the gate and finish dead last? I tried to make up the difference over the last few months, but now I'm almost a hundred grand in the hole with fewer options to get out," Rocco explained, his eyes nervously scanning the concourse behind Buck and Roger, "I know they're less likely to gun for me in a public place like this, so I leave early while there's still a big crowd."

"Will you relax? Tommy Wilder's not a killer, Rocco," Buck tried to assure him, "He might rough you up good, but I've never known him to kill anyone."

"There's a first for everything, Buck. So, anyway, how much can I put you down for? The Castle Stakes posts in about a half hour; I've put down another fifty under my gambling name, so..."

"We're not here to play the races today, Rocco. I've got a job offer for you," Buck leaned forward towards the window, "If you take it, you're going to have to get help for your gambling addiction, no matter how deep in the hole you are, so promise you'll be willing to see somebody?"

"Only if he's not a mob agent in disguise."

"Rocco..."

"All right, I'll do it," Rocco nodded, "Just nothing that would make me an easy target for any assassins."

"Think you might need help for your paranoia too, Rocco," Roger shook his head, "Buck's coaching his nephew's hockey team; since you had some experience training the horses and know a little bit about coaxing speed out of racers, we're wondering if you'd be willing to put your expertise to practices."

"But again, no gambling during the season," Buck made clear to Rocco, "Promise on your heart?"

"Well...I'll try," Rocco gave a nod.

"Guess that's good enough. And don't worry; even if there were hitmen out there, they'd never think to look for you on a hockey rink. Now the first practice is..."

"Hey, Buck, good to see you again, buddy!" came the jovial voice behind him. A large bearded African-American man put Buck's head in a hold and rubbed his hat. "Haven't seen you around here lately."

"Good to see you too, George," Buck shook his hand, "Announcing for the track still going well for you?"

"It's a living."

"Well then, maybe you'd like to join our team too," a light went on in Buck's eyes, "Are you open around two thirty next Saturday?"

"I think so; with the schedule cut back during the winter, I've got more time on my hands."

"Well then, we'll need a public address announcer, as long as the mayor comes through with the convention center," Buck told him, "That'll be the next home game for my nephew's hockey team, and I've got ideas for a more dramatic introduction for them that someone with your illustrious tones would work well with. And you're still creating Internet animated videos in your spare time?"

"Well, yeah."

"Perfect. After your done announcing the afternoon races, let me on up to the booth; I'll fill you in on what I have in mind."

"You seem really excited about this, Buck; I can tell," George said with a knowing gleam in his eye.

"I am, George; I have a feeling this is going to go great..."

* * *

"Well, this is it," Buck said with a happy sigh to his new coaching staff, plus Tia and Maizy, from the door to the rink the following afternoon, "Everybody ready to try and make a difference here?"

"As long as it's not an embarrassing difference, Buck," Chanice still seemed non-committal. Buck gave her reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Ready, Cecil," he bent down and rubbed his dog's head, "OK, let's do it." He opened the door and stepped onto the ice...

...and immediately slipped and fell flat on his back, to a loud yowl from Cecil, on whose tail he'd landed. There was laughter from a majority of the hockey players in the middle of the ice. "I'm OK, I'm OK," Buck quickly hauled himself back to his feet, "OK team, gather round, gather round; let's get started here."

The dozen or so players skated over towards him. "OK, welcome to practice," Buck greeted them all, "So, since this is my first time, let's start by getting to know everyone. Like I said, I'm Buck Russell, and by your vote, I'm your new coach. This is the rest of the coaches: first, Coach Kobalowski," he gestured Chanice forward, "She's gratefully agreed to have her cousin who works with Hirschfeld Garments to draw up some new uniforms for all of you that I think'll be an improvement on your current ones," he pointed out the team's faded and bland uniforms, with only the word SHERMER in boring block letters on the front, "And this is coach Coswell," he waved Roger forward, "I we've agreed he'll be the defensive mind here. And Coach Miller," he pointed to Rocco, "He'll be working on speed drills. And last, Coach Quinlan," he gestured at Lloyd, "He'll be your shooting coach. And here's our on-ice mascot, Cecil the Wonder Dog," he patted his new pet again. "And now, let's meet each of you."

He looked over the players. "I know a couple of you already. Michael Larson, Aaron Gieseke, Ricky Neff, Danny Isaacson, I know all of you from Miles's birthday party," pointed a brown-haired, red-haired, blonde-haired, and African-American boy near the front of the line in turn, "And I'd like to thank all of you for taking the time to be friendly with Miles since he moved from Indianapolis," he gave them warm smiles, "And Tyler Oaks," he turned to a sandy-haired boy on the right, "I'd like to thank your dad for trying to get us the convention center for future home games."

Excited murmurs rippled through the players at such an upgrade in venue. "Well, don't thank me, Coach," Tyler shifted about, "My dad said he'd do whatever it took to make playing a great experience for me...I just want to play for a winner and make him proud..."

"I'm sure you will, Tyler. And now, for the rest of you. What's your name?" Buck turned to a freckled-faced boy near the end of the line.

"Well, my name's Sky-"

"Can it! I'm older, I'll go first!" the girl next to him grabbed his arm and twisted it until he cried out. "I'm Kayla O'Sullivan, and this is Skylar," she gestured at her brother, "Now that your coach, can we amp up the hits? I came to play to pound other players good."

"Mmm, have the fighting spirit, do we? I like that," Buck nodded softly.

"I'm going to be a Marine some day," Kayla told him proudly, "Not like softy here," she released her brother.

"So I'm not as tough as you are; so kill me!" Skylar protested. "She's the hockey player, not me," he admitted to Buck, "I wanted to be a figure skater, but Mom and Dad insisted we play together..."

"Well, maybe we'll find a way to work that in, Skylar. Play to your strengths. And you are...?" Buck approached the next boy in line, who was wearing glasses.

"Charlie Waters. My dad signed me up to play to try and toughen me up. I'm on the honor role, and he wants me stronger," Charlie admitted with shame on his face, "Coach Bartholomew sensed it and kept me on the bench all the time; I told him I'd be glad to try and draw up plays, but he told me to forget it, that he was the coach, and we'd all do what he said."

"Tell you what, Charlie; I'll make you into a good player and give you that chance to try your luck at play designing," Buck assured him, "Everyone's going to feel welcome here. And, last but not least," he turned to the last boy, who was a few inches taller than the others.

"Zachary Betz. This is my third year on the team; I have the longest tenure of anyone," Zachary told him, "While I'm sure you'll be better than Coach Bartholomew, I can't see how much you can get done with just eight games left."

"You know, Zach, it's amazing what can happen if we try. I think all of you are winners already, and I think that with proper training and a little fun, we can still go all the way," Buck said, scanning all the players, "You might seem disorganized now, but that's a sure sign that we're destined to go all the way, because the underdog always gets a second wind in the clutch."

"Real life, Buck, not a Walley picture...!" Chanice mumbled doubtfully under her breath. Buck paid no heed. "All right, how did your old coach run practices?" he asked his new team.

"Basically by shouting at us and calling us all worthless," Aaron admitted, "We tried to do the best we could..."

"And I'm sure you did. Well, that's clearly half the problem right there: negative reinforcement with no reward. So now, we're going to do things quite differently," Buck smiled at the team, "Starting now, we're going to have fun with practices. This is going to be a great experience for all of you..."

"You'll do nothing," came Coach Bartholomew's cold voice from the other side of the rink. The former coach was storming over with his son and formally-dressed man in tow. "OK you psychopath, the game's over," Bartholomew glared in Buck's face, "This is Carlton Maleska from the Cess, Poole, and Drane Law Firm," he gestured at the well-dressed man, "He found that you technically committed felonious assault when you threatened me with that drill. So it's your turn to get off this ice right now unless you want to go straight to prison. Start running sprints, team; I'm back in charge!" he shouted at his former players.

"Oh not you're not," Buck leaned back defiantly in his predecessor's face, "I don't care what legal rock your new pal here crawled out from under," he pointed at the lawyer, "You abdicated your responsibility when you left the ice the other day, thus I'm in charge now."

"Carlton, get ready to call the cops and tell them to pick this guy up immediately," Bartholomew told the lawyer, who started digging through his pocket for a cell phone.

"I don't think he's going to dare," Buck folded his arms confidently across his chest, "Unless of course you want us to tell the cops how badly you were abusing everyone here, especially shoving poor Michael to the ice," he put his arm around the boy.

"And what makes you think they'll believe you over me, you fat slob!?"

"Uh oh, look what I got the other day," grinning mischievously, Tia pulled out her own cell phone and activated playback of a video of Bartholomew shoving Michael, which she held up in Maleska's face. "What the hell is this, Ted!?" Maleska demanded to Bartholomew, "You told me the kids urged him to attack you!"

"This is a fake, Carlton. Just call the cops and let's get rid of this guy!" Bartholomew hissed under his breath, sweat pouring down his face.

"Forget it," Maleska emphatically turned and walked away, "I won't be used for your own purposes, Ted-and I refuse to support anyone guilty of abuse."

"So therefore," Buck leaned triumphantly back in Bartholomew's face, "As I said last night, time to get off the ice and never come back. However," he looked down at Larry, "Your son's more than welcome to stay and try out for the team."

"Forget it; if I don't coach, he doesn't play. Let's go, Larry," furious, Bartholomew grabbed his son's arm and stormed off the ice to more catcalls from his former players-although Buck noticed Larry looking back towards the team wishfully. "OK, now that that's settled," he turned back to the team, "For the next hour and a half, we're going to play hockey like you never played it before-and those of you that do it the best'll get some prizes too. So let the games begin...!"


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders.

* * *

"OK, everybody line up over here," Buck called to his players, "Coach Miller's going to have you run a few races here. Take it, Rocco."

He stepped aside for the betting window operator. "All right, we're going to do some time trials here, to see which of you is the fastest," Rocco explained, "We'll start at a distance of three furlongs and increase..."

"Uh, what's a furlong?" Ricky asked with a frown.

"Um, from about here at mid-ice to down by the far goal," Buck pointing, mouthing _"Layman's terms,"_ towards Rocco. "And fastest overall gets a special reward," he declared, pulling out a pipe and lighting it (pipes were the third phase in his five year plan to quit smoking, having graduated past cigars shortly after the new year). "OK, runners to your posts," he declared, "On your mark, get set, go!"

He hit the start button on his stopwatch as all the players took off, skating rapidly along the boards. Buck trudged-with a little bit of slipping on the ice, over to where Tia and Chanice were holding up finish line tape. He reached it just as Aaron became the first to break through it. "Time," he hit the button to stop the stopwatch...and frowned when it did nothing. He shook it hard, to no effect. "Damn things always stop working every time," he mumbled, tossing it over the side of the rink. "Great work, Aaron," he commended him, "OK, let's try it a little longer now, say, a whole lap."

He remained in place next to his niece and girlfriend while everyone took their place behind the near net. This time the competition was neck and neck between Aaron and Miles, and right before the home stretch, his nephew put out an extra burst of speed that allowed him to cross the line first. "Excellent, Miles, excellent," Buck gave his nephew a thumbs-up. "All right, we'll come back to that a little later in the day; right now, Maizy, the medals."

Maizy hopped the barrier carrying a box. Buck reached into it. "Gold," he put a paper gold medal around Aaron's neck, "Silver," he gave this one to Miles, "And bronze," the last one went to Michael, who'd been right behind the two of them. He sided up to Chanice and whispered, "If this holds, I think we've got our starting front line."

"IF it holds," she was more cautious. "All right, everyone over to Coach Quinlan and Coach Coswell; we're going to work on shooting and defending next," she instructed them all. Buck followed her and them over to Lloyd and Roger. "All right, gather round everyone," the golf pro told them, adjusting his fedora, "Shooting is an art that too many people take for granted these days. They all think just aiming and firing will do the job. Well I'm here to tell you that it takes finesse and skill. Observe."

He put his stick next to the nearest puck, reared back and shot...sending the puck high out of the rink, where it nailed a concession stand worker watching from the concourse square in the face. "Sorry, sorry," Buck called up to the man, wincing. "So, now you see the proper way to get even with hecklers, I guess," he told his team, "But only do that if they actually throw things at you. Continue, Coach Quinlan."

"When shooting, you need power and the right posture. Make sure the hips are set, your arms are lined up properly with the ball...uh, puck, and turn your body, like so," Lloyd demonstrated, contorting his body into the proper position, "Make sure you have this before you shoot."

"Uh, you realize that in the heat of the game, they won't have all that time to follow that whole checklist, Lloyd?" Roger pointed out.

"Who's the pro here, Coswell, you or me? I've worked Cedar Creek for almost twenty years, and...!"

"All right, like Coach Quinlan says, let's practice some half-rink shots with his technique," Buck quickly cut in before things could get heated. He waved Roger to follow him over to where Chanice was now laying out some cones. "Set the obstacle course with us," he instructed his friend, "Let Lloyd handle that part of the game."

"Not to second guess myself, Buck, but do you think he could be some trouble?" Roger had to inquire.

"I've been saying from the beginning," Chanice mumbled under her breath. Buck paid no heed. "Until he actually screws up, Roger, I don't see what problem he's going to cause as long as stays sober," he said, "Probably could use another hand here; Zach, you done for the moment?" he noticed Zachary had finished shooting and was standing by himself, "Could you give us a hand here with the obstacle course we're doing next?"

"OK," Zachary skated over and started to help Buck lay out some barrels. "Coach, I know you mean well and all, but do you really think we have a chance to win it all?" he had to ask.

"Of course I do. It's teams like us that always take people by surprise," Buck nodded, "Just so I know what we have to start with, what's our current record?"

"Three and eleven. We were decent at first, but we haven't won in the last five games, and got blown out badly in all of them. And only the top eight teams make the playoffs. We're really going to have to push it."

"But we can do it; the underdog always comes through in these situations," Buck declared optimistically, "One quick winning streak should be enough to snag the last playoff spot."

"But nobody beats Kenilworth, Coach. I'm not being a downer, I'm just being realistic," Zachary shook his head softly, "They've won the last twenty titles in a row; our next game against them in two weeks is going to be Coach Richards's chance at his one thousandth win."

"He's still even coaching? What's he got left to prove at this point, other than the obvious that nobody can beat him?" Chanice asked out loud, a flicker of anger crossing her face, Buck noticed. "You know him, Chanice?" he asked her.

"We've met," she said firmly, "But I think what Zachary's trying to say, Buck, is not to get these kids' hopes too high. If we can win a few good, but for them to win to the title at this point is probably asking too much. If you get them expecting too much, and they fail to reach that plane, they'll be crushed beyond words. Now do you really want that on your conscience?"

"Gotta try as hard as we can, Chanice; every goal's worth trying for," Buck countered, laying a board against several more barrels as a ramp.

"And that's supposed to be taken seriously from the guy who never wanted a job in his life until...?"

"Hold that thought; Lloyd's finished his shooting drill," Buck interrupted, seeing the last player fire off a shot at the goal. He blew his whistle. "OK, good work everyone. Now come on over here," he waved them over, "We'll going to run an obstacle course next..."

* * *

The rest of practice seemed to fly by, and soon it was five o'clock, Buck noticed on his watch. He looked back up and took another swing at the goal with the stick he was holding now, missing it by a mile. But he didn't care. The thrill of the moment, augmented by Eye of the Tiger blasting over the loudspeakers, was making him feel on top of the world. "So many times, it happens too fast: you trade your passion for glory," he sang along with it, turning to grin at the players skating in line behind him all around the perimeter of the rink, "Don't lose you grip on the dreams of your past; you must fight just to keep them alive. It's the eye of the tiger; it's the king of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our rivals. And the last known survivor stalks his way in the night, and he's watching us there with the eye of the tiger!"

He noticed another familiar figure in the stands, watching. Thus, he took hold of his whistle and blew it. "OK, that's it for today, everyone," he declared, coming to a stop in the center of the ice, everyone coasting to a stop around him, "You all did real good, really you did, and I think we've laid the foundation of something good here. You all enjoy it today?"

Enthusiastic cheers answered him. "Well good to know. And I've got a special treat for all of you as a topper: Maizy has ice cream sundaes in the cooler by the bench," Buck pointed, "Since you're all winners to me, I think you deserve it, so go treat yourselves."

Even loud cheers preceded a stampede to the bench. Buck grinned at his players snatching up the ice cream. "Feel better now, Miles?" he bent down towards his nephew at his side.

"Much better now, UB; now I want to play again," Miles winked at him, "Do you think you could even put me in the starting lineup for once?"

"Well, it would have to be based on talent, Miles; I don't want the air of nepotism hanging over us. But if you're good enough, sure you can start," Buck rubbed his head, "Anyway, I see your dad's here already," he pointed up to the stands, "So, might as well hand you over to him now."

He led Miles through the door off the ice and climbed the stairs, where his brother was now coming down to meet him. "Bob, glad you could come," he greeted him, giving him a big bear hug, "How's the new position at ShirleyCorp going? I haven't asked since you got the promotion, so..."

"It's going good, Buck," Bob told him, pulling back and readjusting his glasses, "It's good to be a full time advertiser now, and fortunately Tom Bueller's the department head; he's been a big help breaking me in, and ensuring I can have flexible hours to be here to pick Miles up afterwards. How'd it go playing for your uncle, Miles?" he bent down to ask his son.

"Great, Dad; UB's been on a roll ever since everyone else convinced him to coach us," Miles told him, "I think now I'll keep playing."

"He's been on a roll, huh?" Bob glanced back up to Buck, "Listen Buck, I do want to say, I'm glad you are being here for Miles and doing this, but just be careful."

"Careful? What do I need to be careful of?"

"Just...well...I know you mean well, Buck, but I know that...sometimes things happen, and you're not exactly the type of person that other people see as a role model," Bob said slowly, clearly trying to weight each word carefully, "If something went wrong...well, what I'm saying is..."

"Coach Russell," it was a blonde woman approaching, "I'm Aaron's mother," she gestured at his son behind here, "And I just want to say that he told me he's never had more fun on the ice than he did today. He was considering quitting the other week; now, I've never seen him so happier to be a player. So I just want to say thank you," she commended him with a smile.

"Oh don't mention it, Mrs. Gieseke," Buck tipped his hat to her with his own smile, "I'm just glad to be able to help."

"And I'm glad you are too, Coach," Aaron peaked around his mother, his ice cream still in hand. "I'm going to nominate you for team captain for bringing him here for the next game," he told Miles eagerly, making Miles grin himself.

"Well, we'll see, but I'll consider it, Aaron. See you Friday," Buck waved goodbye to him. "See, what could go wrong, Bob?" he turned back to his brother, "Things are already much better than they were under the old guy; the kids are more excited than they were before..."

"Yes, I can see that, Buck. It's just...I know you love Miles, and all his teammates, just please don't do anything to make them look or feel bad," Bob advised him, "I know you wouldn't mean it, but..."

"Hold that thought, Bob, I think someone else wants to say something," Buck had noticed another bespectacled man approaching them, one he easily recognized as Shermer Mayor John Oaks. "Mr. Mayor, I'm Buck Russell, I'm coaching the team now; so good you could come down," he greeted the mayor, giving his hand a vigorous pumping.

"Coach Russell, good to meet you in person," Mayor Oaks told him with a neutral expression, but one that Buck felt was looking through him like a X-ray machine, "You'll be pleased to note I was able to clear the Shermer Convention Center for the team's usage for the rest of the season. Crews will be getting the rink up as per regulation for youth hockey within the week."

"Good, good. I appreciate all the effort, Mr. Mayor," Buck nodded in approval, "I've got a good feeling about where we're going."

"I hope so. I want Tyler to have the best experience possible when he's on this team; he deserves that much. Just one thing, though, Coach Russell," the mayor leaned towards him, "I don't go through something this big without looking at the people I'll be working with. My background check on you shows some interesting hits, namely your penchant for gambling and horse racing, plus a fair amount of drinking."

"Oh, that? Well don't worry, Mr. Mayor; I'm giving all that up for this job," Buck told him quickly, "But how'd you...?"

"Oh, when you run for office like I do, you find ways to learn about people. So just consider yourself on unofficial notice, Coach Russell: uphold your vow to give your vices up at all times," Mayor Oaks advised him, "I'm doing this for my son and this team with the expectation that he and they-and through them, my town-will not be embarrassed. If they are through any of your actions, you can consider any support from my office cut off permanently, and I will press for your immediate resignation. Have I spelled my intentions out clearly?"

"Very clearly, Mr. Mayor, and don't you worry; I've come to like Shermer a lot since I've moved here, so the last thing I want to do is give the town a bad name," Buck told him with a strong nod.

"So let's hope it stays that way. Tyler, come on, let's go," Mayor Oaks called to his son on the ice with a warm smile. He put an arm around Tyler when he came to him and started walking towards the exit. "And since that's all cleared, good luck in Winnetka on Saturday, Coach Russell," he called over his shoulder.

"You know it," Buck waved goodbye to him. He took a deep breath. "No pressure," he said to himself, "Can't let him down, can't let the town down. You can deliver, Buck old boy..."

"Was that the mayor?" came Maizy's voice behind him. She and her sister had left the ice and joined their father and brother now. "Yep, that was him. Seems pretty nice," Buck nodded, "So you know, Maizy, there's at least one sundae left for you in the cooler."

"She'll have it after dinner," Bob broke in, "Come on, your mother probably has dinner waiting," he told his children, putting his arms around them.

"Cindy's OK with this, so I know?" Buck had to ask.

"So far, Buck. I just hope it stays that way," his brother told him, "Have a good night."

"Drive safe," Buck waved goodbye to him. Chanice and Roger now joined him on the concourse. "That was fun," the latter remarked, "I can't wait for Saturday."

"Neither can I, Rog," Buck agreed, "That's going to be one heck of a great opener."

"Correct me, Buck, but I think Winnetka has one of the best records in the league," Chanice was still pessimistic, "We'll be lucky if we get anywhere close..."

"Like I said, Chanice, you don't know until you try. And I think we can win, especially if we start the game on the right foot."

* * *

"Of all the days to sleep in...!" Buck groaned out loud, swinging a wild turn to the right down a street he realized too late was one way in the other direction in Winnetka. "Why couldn't you have woken me up, Cecil!?" he complained to the dog, sitting in the driver's seat with his paws over his eyes at their high rate of speed, "You're my backup alarm clock, you know! And where the hell are we!?" he glanced at the upcoming intersection, "Come on, Winnetka, label your streets like everyone else!"

He heard the wail of a police siren behind him and groaned to see a cruiser following in his rearview mirror. "Oh well, we'll deal with him later," his eyes shot back to his dashboard clock, which now read 1:03, "Hope they won't be too upset...come on, where is the damn rink!?"

Cecil let out a bark that made him look to his right. "Ah, good, here we are," he noticed it to his right and made a wide turn that obliterated a mailbox. "Sorry, sorry," he grimaced, knowing the cop behind him would likely hold it against him. He aimed for the only remaining open parking space, but it was barely wide enough to accommodate the "Buckmobile;" indeed, a deafening shriek of metal of metal rang out as he tried to wedge his way in. Buck pressed his door to open it, but it couldn't open. The car on his left was too close. "Great! OK, No problem," Buck rolled down the driver's side window, sucked in his breath, and tried to squeeze out, getting himself halfway out as the police car lurched to a stop behind him. "OK buster," growled the officer inside, "You've got a bit of explaining to do about your driving in the last ten minutes..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know officer; I overslept for my first hockey game," Buck admitted, managing to pull himself completely out of the car.

"Unfortunately, that's not an excuse for reckless endangerment, mister," the policeman put his hands on his hips, "Let me just read the basics of all the traffic violations you just committed..."

"Tell you what, come on with me, and you can give me the whole story; I've got to get behind the bench quick," Buck took the cop's hand, whistled for Cecil to follow him, and dashed into the rink. "Excessive speeding, failure to signal for a safe lane change, driving a car that has clearly failed inspection..." the cop jumped at the sound of the tailpipe backfiring again behind them, "Cutting off two separate drivers..."

"I'm coach of the Shermer Snowy Owls; I accidentally overslept," Buck waved down a security guard on the concourse, "Which way to the bench?"

"You overslept?" the guard raised his eyebrows and checked his watch in disbelief, "Well, I guess there's a first for everything. Down the stairs, head to your right; Shermer bench is right over there," he pointed.

"Thanks. You want anything from the concession stand before I head down, officer?" Buck asked the cop.

"Absolutely not," the cop frowned at him, "Continuing," he returned to his notepad, "Running three red lights and two stop signs, turning the wrong way down two separate one way streets, destruction of Winnetka community property, driving repeatedly on the wrong side of the road, emissions violations..."

"Hold the game, hold the game! I'm here, don't anyone worry!" Buck shouted towards the ice, reaching the Shermer bench and starting to climb over the Plexiglas. "Well it's about damn time," Chanice glared at him, "Where the hell have you been, Buck!?"

"Overslept, sorry, honey," Buck apologized, straining to get over the top of the barrier, "Just started...we're already down one to nothing?" he frowned at the scoreboard, "Just a minute into the game too?"

"Goaltender panicked at the sight of the puck coming at him," Roger shook his head, "Think we might have to find a new guy for the job."

"Well, I think Danny could just use...WHOOOOAAA!" Buck abruptly lost his grip and toppled over the barrier to land flat on his face on the bench floor, to the laughter of his players. "And," the cop glared over the barrier, "Manhandling an officer of the law in the course of his duties...plus bring animals illegally into public places," he frowned at Cecil leaping the barricades to join his master.

"Well Cecil's our unofficial mascot, officer," Buck stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off.

"That's still a violation, mister. So here," the cop wrote out a ticket and tossed it over the barricade, "That's fifty bucks, payable to Winnetka City Hall within a week. Have a nice day."

He skulked off. Buck glanced up into the stands to where he saw Bob and Cindy sitting; both of them were giving him raised eyebrows-and to their left, Mayor Oaks was giving him a clear frown. He gulped nervously. "OK, everyone," he turned to his players on the bench, "As I would have said if I'd been able to make it earlier to the pre-game pep talk, this is the beginning of a new era. I think it's going to be great, and if we give it our all..."

"Watch it, Danny; coming at you again!" Charlie shouted a warning to the goal, where a Winnetka player had broken loose and was rocketing towards the goal. It was in fact at the moment Buck turned to look that the Wildcat fired a shot that soared towards Danny's head-which prompted Danny to hit the deck, letting the puck sail unobstructed into the goal. The buzzer rang out to announce the goal, augmented by the cheer of the home Winnetka crowd-and an aggravated growl from Chanice, who pounded her fist off the Plexiglas in frustration. "OK, OK, don't worry, we'll get that one back. Time, time," Buck called to the referee, who blew his whistle to grant it. "Hey everyone, sorry I'm late," he greeted the starters, "Don't worry about that goal; we'll score right back soon. Uh, Danny, is there something about you and pucks?" he had to ask the goaltender.

"Uh, no, Coach, he just shot it too fast," Danny said quickly-quickly enough for Buck to suspect that was not the whole story. "OK, well, we'll go on about that later. Are you guys starting this game?" he asked the players on the ice.

"Guess so; Coach Kobalowski had no idea who to put on, so she picked us at random," Ricky explained.

"I had no idea what you wanted, Buck, and it looks like it's not going to make much of a difference anyway," Chanice grumbled, throwing up her hands in disgust.

"Well, I have the starting lineup in mind right here," Buck dug a piece of paper out of his pocket, "Michael and Aaron are the wingers, Miles is at center, Tyler and Kayla are the guards. Danny...you're good for now; just get a little tougher in there."

"Time, coach," the referee informed him. "OK, try a full frontal assault on them without going offsides; we'll get one back," Buck wished the starters well. Once they were in position, he turned to the reserves and asked, "Uh, not that I'm panicking or anything, but do we have any reserve goaltenders, just in case?"

"Afraid Danny's all we got, Coach," Skylar shook his head, "Coach Bartholomew chased the other one away after he gave up ten goals in the first period four weeks ago. Danny was the only other one willing to try goal, but it hasn't worked out well, as you can see," he gestured at the scoreboard.

"Seems to have been a pattern with him to chase people off. Oh well, I'll work on Danny later in the week. "Full swarm, full swarm!" Buck called for a massive wave attack on the ice. All five Snowy Owls charged forward-but all of them missed the net when they had the chance. A Winnetka defenseman took possession of the puck on the last rebound from Michael and fired a massive slap shot down the ice that once again made Danny cry out and hit the deck, allowing another uncontested goal. Buck put his hands to his face. "This is trouble," he asided to Roger, grimacing at the sound of Chanice kicking over a crate of pucks in disgust, "We need to get him up to speed quick, or get a new guy soon, or this is going to be a pretty short tenure for us."

"You don't have to tell me," Roger nodded, "But at least it's still early. We might be able to pull it out."

* * *

"Final score: Winnetka Wildcats eleven, Shermer Snowy Owls one," the PA announcer declared the final score an hour and a half later. Buck forced a smile as he shook hands with the Winnetka players and coaches. "Good job, Coach; hopefully see you again soon," he told the Wildcats' head coach. "OK everyone, gather round," he called to his despondent players, "That was pretty good, for a first time..."

"Oh cut the crap, Buck; you can't make this seem good!" Chanice bellowed at him. "That was utterly pathetic!" she upbraided the players, "Don't any of you want to give any effort at all!? After everything we did this...!"

"CHANICE!" Buck shouted, "You're not helping with all the negativity!"

"So what am I supposed to do, Buck!? Say being blown out by ten goals is not bad!? Let me remind you that my business is on the line here since you got me to agree to help you with this. I expect as good a return as the mayor and the rest of the parents do. So we'd better see better effort in practice next week!" she turned to the players again, "I won't be there on Monday; I'm getting your new uniforms then, like I promised. You'd better make it worth it-not like we have much of a chance against Kenilworth anyway...!"

She stormed off the ice in a rage. Buck grimaced in discomfort at his fiancé's outburst. "Well, contrary to Coach Kobalowski's opinion, I think you did halfway decent," he told his team.

"We're terrible, let's just face it," Ricky lamented.

"Nah, I still think you're winners," Buck assured him, "This was just growing pains, that's all. From what I've heard, this was much less bad a loss than last time, so give yourself some credit there-Michael, good job with the goal," he commended the lone scorer, "All right, see you all Monday; looks like we've got a big game coming up next week, so we're going to kick our plans into high gear here."

The team and coaches started dispersing. "Danny, like a word with you," Buck took the goalie aside, "You sure you're not scared of pucks? Be honest with me."

"I'm not scared of the pucks, Mr. Russell, it's just," Danny's face scrunched up, "When we visited my cousins in the city a few years ago, we almost got caught in a gang shootout. I guess everything that flies close to my face..."

"Give you flashback to when it was bullets flying towards you," Buck finished the sentence. "I understand, yeah. Well, we're going to help you overcome that fear when all's said and done, I give you my word on that."

"I just wish there was somebody else who could take over in goal; I'm just not that good," Danny shook his head.

"Well, you're good in my book; we'll just have to make you a little better. Need a ride home?" Buck offered.

"Nope, parents are taking my back. Not that I want to go back so soon; it's my brother's birthday, and they hired this clown for it..." Danny winced.

"I think I know who you mean," Buck's face lit up, "Out of curiosity, what street do you live on?"

"Walnut, by the fire house."

"I see. Well, have a good ride back, Danny," Buck wished him well, seeing the Isaacsons coming onto the ice for their son. He bustled over to the bench, where Tia was helping Rocco stack up the sticks. "I'd like a moment with my niece, Rocco," he told the pari-mutual operator.

"If you insist, Buck; we're pretty much done anyway here. See you Monday," Rocco sauntered off towards the exit. "Hey, don't feel bad; they were bound to not be great in the first game," Tia assured her uncle, "I think there's something inside Chanice she's not telling us."

"I've been thinking the same. Say, you open for the afternoon? I'd like to prove I'm on Danny's side, and do so at the expense of a certain clown who's going to ruin his brother's afternoon..."

"Oh, him? Tell me what you have in mind," a devious look crossed Tia's face.

"Well," Buck chuckled, "I've been thinking that this time..."


	5. Chapter 5

"AAAAAAALL right, kiddies, now it's time for Pooter's balloon zoo!" slurred the clearly drunk-again-Pooter the clown inside the Isaacsons' living room. The local performer clumsily tried to twist a balloon into some kind of animal, but it popped in his hands. "Damn it to hell!" he raged, oblivious to all the kids seated on the floor in front of him. Looking in through the window, Buck shook his head grimly. "I'll never get why nobody's taken his license away yet," he muttered out loud.

"I guess he pays somebody off, UB," Miles guessed at his feet. He strained to look over the windowsill, "I wonder if he's going to succeed in getting even one right?"

"Uh, why don't we leave it up to the imagination, Miles?" Buck hastily pulled Miles away, seeing Pooter seconds away from dropping his pants for whatever reason. "Last touch of makeup," he told Tia, who had a makeup kit in hand behind him.

"Hold real still-and there you go," Tia applied the last bit of white facial makeup, then held up a mirror for her uncle, "I think you're a better looking clown then he is anyway," she commended him, taking in the clown suit he'd bought downtown before coming to the Isaacsons'.

"Well I know I'm better than that clown in a lot of ways," Buck grimaced at Pooter bellowing, "Sit the hell down, you little brats! I'm gonna have your undivided attention until I'm done!" inside the Isaacsons' house. "OK, time to interrupt the show," he approached the door and knocked on the door. "Who is it!?" Mrs. Isaacson, clearly at wit's end over Pooter's terrible performance, threw it open.

"Hiya Mrs. Isaacson; I'm Bucko the Clown, here to save the day!" Buck honked his clown nose.

"Another clown? But I only paid for one...and clearly too much," she glanced back over her shoulder with revulsion at Pooter swaying drunkenly in the middle of the living room, just barely managing to grab hold of the rings he was juggling now.

"Don't worry, Bucko'll give you a superior performance than the competition," Buck bowed humbly. "Hey, everyone!" he bounded eagerly into the living room, making all the kids turn in surprise, "I'm Bucko the Clown, and I'm going to give you a real show!"

"Who the hell are you, jackass!?" Pooter demanded, putting his hands on his hips-and thus letting all the rings he'd thrown up fall down and bonk him on the head. He shook them off and stormed over to Buck, "I'm the only clown in this town, bud, and I'm a god in local entertainment! So nobody tries to upstage me in the middle of my act!"

"Ah yes, Bucko's seen the mighty Pooter's act-and it made him throw up the last five meals he'd eaten," Buck declared grandly, "So, to save your viewers here more torture," he gestured at all the kids on the floor, "I'll take it from here."

"Oh no you don't!" Pooter leaned right in his face, overwhelming Buck with the smell of what must have been at least seven beers consumed very recently, "This town ain't big enough for the four of us...are there really three of you?" he squinted drunkenly at Buck.

"Maybe. But can you guess which one of us does this, then?" Buck pressed a hidden button that hit Pooter with a deluge of water in the face from his lapel flower and made all the kids laugh for the first time. "Why you dirty son of a...!" Pooter roared, but Buck decked him to the floor before he could finish his sentence. Pooter bounced back up and shook the blow off. "I'll knock your head clean off your shoulders, jackass!" he threatened, swinging and missing repeatedly. "Hey yo Apollo, that all you got?" Buck mocked him in his best Rocky impression. Roaring, Pooter lunged at him, but Buck easily sidestepped him, causing the drunken clown to run hard into the wall, to more laughter. "And now, Bucko is proud to present some actual magic, which, I'll admit, I'm starting to take an interest in," Buck told the audience of children, "I'd like to introduce my lovely assistant Tia and my stage crew with the Box of Doom."

"Prepare to die, you piece of...!" Pooter lunged for him again, but tripped and fell face first into the birthday cake. He stumbled around, trying to wipe it off his face, right as Tia wheeled in a large box. Miles and Maizy followed, carrying swords. "And now, Bucko will subject this poor excuse for an entertainer to some actual entertainment: confinement in the Box of Doom, while I run these swords through it," Buck proclaimed to loud cheers, "And so, in we go," he hauled Pooter up, shoved him into the box, and locked it shut. "Let me outta here, right now, or I'm gonna rip your spine clean outta your...!" Pooter threatened him.

"The swords, Miles, if you please!" Bucked declared loudly, drowning his competitor out. He took two off Miles and drove them into the box, oblivious to Pooter's "OOOOOOOOOWWWW!" He took two more off Maizy and shoved them in too, and went on and on until every sword had been driven into the box. "How're we doing in there?" he asked jovially, opening up the front of the box.

"YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!" Pooter bellowed, contorted into a strange shape by all the swords. Buck locked the box up again. "And now for the topper, I'll make the bad clown disappear, like magic!" he proclaimed. He took hold of a sheet and covered the box with it-then shoved the whole box out the door, where it rolled down the driveway and crashed hard into a tree. "Voila, gone, like magic!" Buck took a bow to loud applause, "And now, I'll fill in the rest of the show he wanted to do as best I can. And don't worry about him; I have bigger plan for him..."

* * *

"So, in order to help you learn how to improve your shooting skills against moving goalies, Mr. Pooter here has graciously volunteered to serve as a mock goalie for us. And we thank you, Mr. Pooter," Buck grinned at the clown, now bound and gagged with duct tape to the goal on the far end of the Shermer rink, "Any words of encouragement for the kids before we start?" he pulled the tape off the clown's mouth.

"My lawyer's going to sue you into dirt for this, you mother-!" Pooter roared. Buck hastily slapped the tape back into place, cutting off the climax. "Now, Mr. Pooter's going to squirm around as best he can; your job's to get as many pucks past him as possible. A bigger target makes for a bigger challenge. Everyone set?"

"Yeah!" came the enthusiastic shout; clearly, Buck could tell, Pooter had ruined too many of his players' birthdays over the years for them not to want revenge on him. "OK, Snowy Owls, ready," he stepped out of harm's way, "aim, fire!"

A barrage of pucks started flying towards a wide-eyed Pooter, who did his best to avoid them, but still got nailed repeatedly by them all over. A number of pucks did get through the net past the clown. "OK, time," Buck called when every last puck had been fired. He walked over and examined the net. "Pretty good; Aaron, looks like you did the best; great job," he commended him, all while kicking the pucks in the net back out. "OK, we'll run through this again later; right now, though, let's try penalty shots. All you have to do is hit the target; Maizy, will you set up the target please?" he asked his niece. Maizy walked over and casually attached a target right over Pooter's genitals. "Hit the target and win the game. Ready, aim, fire!" Buck stepped to safety again, grinning at Pooter howling in agony as all the pucks hit the bullseye hard. "He's had it coming," he told Maizy with a smile.

"I know, Uncle Buck," she agreed, "I'm just glad Aunt Chanice wasn't here to see it; she probably wouldn't like it."

"I know, and I'm glad too," Buck shivered; kidnapping the clown and using him for target practice would almost certainly have drawn severe condemnation from Chanice. "Just promise not a word to her about this, right?"

"My lips are sealed, Uncle Buck," Maizy made a zipping gesture over her lips. Buck nodded in approval. He bustled over to Lloyd, watching the "penalty shots" play out. "How're they looking, Lloyd?" he asked the golf pro.

"A little better than before, Buck," Lloyd nodded, "I think a little more practice ought to get them..."

"Look who's back, Uncle Buck," Maizy tugged his coat sleeve and pointed. Buck turned to see Larry Bartholomew standing nervously in the front row of seats on the edge of the rink. "Oh, how interesting," he remarked, "Well, we'll see what we've got here."

He bustled over. "Larry, good to see you," he greeted the boy, "What brings you back here?"

"Um, Mr. Russell, I...well..." Larry stammered, his eyes darting around nervously, "I was wondering...I'd still like to play, even though my dad says I'm not playing for you..."

"Well don't you worry; if you want to play for us, you can play for us," Buck told him.

"Great," Larry's face lit up. He rapidly put on some skates and rushed onto the ice. "OK, I've back, everyone," he announced to his teammates, many of whom groaned at the sight of him, "Give me the puck; let's see what we can do."

"Uh, actually, Larry, I had something different in mind," Buck hustled after him, "Right now, we're in need a of a goaltender, so I was thinking of putting you there."

"Goalie? I'm not a goalie; I'm the center and the captain," Larry turned to him, "So whoever's..."

"Larry, I know your dad pushed you heavily as the star player and big scorer, but this is a team game, and if you're playing for us again, you'll going to have to be a team player," Buck advised him, "We need help at goal; if you can prove yourself good enough, you can still be a star in another way."

"But I'm not a goalie; aren't you listening!? This is my team to lead, and...!"

"What's the matter, Larry, too ashamed that the team doesn't revolve around you anymore?" Kayla taunted him, skating over, "Maybe being stuck in goal'll do you a world of good."

"Don't push it, O'Sullivan; I'm not afraid of you or anyone! I'm not..."

"LARRY!" came the very unwelcome shout of the elder Bartholomew from the edge of the ice, which made definite fear cross Larry's face, Buck noticed. He turned to see the former coach storming towards them. "What the hell do you think you're doing running away like this!?" he lambasted his son furiously, making Larry shrink down in fear, "I told you you're not playing for this filth," he gestured contemptuously at Buck, "So let's go home, now!"

"But Dad, I...!"

"Don't you dare talk back to me, young man, you hear me!?" he grabbed his son's arm roughly, "You don't play for me, you don't play at all, and that's final! Now let's go right now, or...!"

"Hey, get your hands off of him!" Buck slapped his predecessor's hand away from his son's arm, "I'm this close to calling the cops on you, buster, and it takes an awful lot to get me to that level! You're leaving, but not with your son."

"And who do you think you are telling me what I can or can't do with my son!?" Bartholomew dared him, "You're nothing, and your big loss on Saturday proved that much! And you certainly have no argument against me to...!"

"Uh oh, I think we just did get one a few minutes ago, didn't we Tia?" Buck turned to his niece, who once more had captured Bartholomew manhandling his son on her phone. Bartholomew started sweating at the video playing, but shook his head and growled, "I'm not scared of you; I can say you faked all this footage, and they'll believe me. So what're you going to do about that, huh!?"

"I think I know what my uncle might do; he can bury the hatchet with you, can't he?" Tia turned mischievously to Buck. "Oh yeah, I certainly can," Buck grinned darkly, "In fact, I've got the hatchet right here," he pulled it out of his coat pocket, "Amazing what you can remember to bring to these practices. I like to keep the blade real sharp," he started advancing towards Bartholomew, "So I think it'll take just one swipe to take your head clean off."

"You _are_ a lunatic, this proves it!" Bartholomew had gone white with terror again, "I can call the cops and...!"

"Yeah, go ahead and call the cops, but you'll have no hard proof I did anything to you. while I do," Buck gestured to Tia's cell phone with its incriminating video, "So this is your last warning: you leave now and never, ever darken my ice for any reason again whatsoever, AND leave Larry here alone both here and at home, or I will call the police and press full child abuse charges on you, AND bury the hatchet with you afterwards," he raised the hatchet again, "So get going, now."

"All right, fine! But this'll be the biggest mistake you've ever made in your life, buster!" Bartholomew warned him, stepping backwards, "And you," he pointed at Larry, "Go ahead and betray me to play for him, but you won't see me at any Snowy Owl games! Think that over real good!"

He turned and stormed away to a loud ovation. "All right, all right," Buck raised his hand to calm everyone down, "Back to business, everyone." He approached Larry, with tears in his eyes. "Don't worry about him; he's not going to do anything to you," he assured the boy, "Like I said, you want to play, you've got a chance. Now why don't we try you in goal, just to see? You'll never know if you can do anything until you try, after all."

"Mmm," was all Larry could manage, wiping his eyes.

"Good. Danny, give Larry your goalie gear; we're going to try something," Buck called to him.

"Sure thing," Danny quickly removed his goalie pads and mask. "Thanks more than you can know," he commended Larry, handing them to him. Larry slowly slipped them on and skated towards the goal. "OK, here we go; Rocco, give me a hand with this," Buck called him over and took a stick from him. "Ready, set, here it comes," he announced, firing pucks at the goal. Larry lurched from side to side and managed to stop or deflect a good three quarters of the pucks. "Not bad, not bad," Buck commended him, gesturing for Rocco to fire some of his pucks. Again, Larry managed to stop most of them. "Pretty good indeed. Roger, take over," Buck waved him to take his place. "Don't go anywhere, Danny," he called to the old goaltender, who was skating off to join Lloyd's latest shooting clinic on Pooter, "I said we'd work on your fears with flying pucks, and I'm keeping my word."

"But if Larry's going to be goalie now..."

"Still better to be sure. Maizy, the tennis balls," Buck called to his niece, who leaped onto the ice with a bucket. "Stand back about ten feet and get ready," Buck instructed Danny. He reached into the bucket, pulled out a tennis ball, and tossed it towards Danny-accidentally nailing him in the face. "Sorry, sorry, that was me," he apologized. The second toss, however, had the same effect. "This isn't helping, Coach!" Danny protested.

"I know, but try and bear with me here," Buck deliberately tossed the third ball high in the air. Danny took aim underneath it and grasp for it. The ball bounced off his fingertips. "Not bad, considering. Next one up," Buck tossed the fourth ball. This one Danny managed to briefly grasp hold of before fumbling it to the ice. "Well we'll get it eventually. One more," Buck tossed a fifth ball. Danny took a deep breath, and despite fumbling it managed to hold on. "I actually did it!?" he was amazed.

"Yep, and great work there," Buck patted him on the shoulder, "We'll keep trying throughout the week; we're going to make you beat that problem with flying pucks yet."

"Can I go shooting now?"

"Yep, go join everyone else," Buck nodded. He watched Danny skate off. "You think he can do it?" he asked Maizy.

"Here's hoping, Uncle Buck," Maizy looked uncertain, "With how good Miles says Kenilworth is, we'll need everyone at their best, probably."

"I know. But we're going to try our best-and do it quick, because Saturday'll be here before we know it..."

* * *

"All set, George?" Buck walked into the control room of the Shermer Convention Center on Saturday afternoon.

"You know it, Buck," George flashed him a thumbs-up, "I'm going to give your guys the best intro I can."

"Yeah, I think this is going to go great. Can I see the intro video, just for a peek?" Buck asked.

"Right here," George cued it up, "Since the theme song got you pumped up for a movie back in the day, it should get everyone pumped up for a hockey game too."

"But I can guarantee what's going to happen, you guys; the moment the game's over, HBO's lawyers are going to be suing the heck out of us for copyright infringement," Chanice mumbled softly from the back of the room, holding Cecil's leash.

"How are they going to know we're running this, Chanice? And besides, it's an homage to a great segment, so they won't mind. And here we go," Buck leaned towards the computer screen in front of George as an image of a cloudbank appeared. Slowly the clouds parted to show an overhead shot of a CGI rendering of Shermer's downtown business district. The camera then dove down to street level and started zipping down Shermer's main street to the rising strains of the classic HBO movie theme. it weaved down various streets into residential areas, passing cars and buses and getting faster and faster with each second. Finally it reached the Shermer Convention Center and zoomed up into space. Right on cue the moment the music hit its familiar crescendo, a star gate burst open with a blast of light, revealing a silver metallic owl flying towards the camera, closer and closer until it almost filled the screen. The camera then zoomed towards its eye, which exploded with yellow, then turned blue and faded, revealing the newly designed Shermer Snowy Owls logo. A blast of snow whited out the screen once the music drew to a close. "Perfect, perfect!" Buck applauded, "Just what I wanted. OK George, if it takes longer than seventy seconds to introduce us, just loop the familiar part of the music until we're done."

"We're still getting sued, I know it, and I'm going to have to pay for everything," Chanice muttered. Buck turned to tell her the opposite, but was distracted by the Kenilworth players coming onto the ice below them. "Ah, here come the big boys," he declared, pushing the control room window open for a closer look, "Ah, just like every dominant team in these league: all white boys, wearing black uniforms. Yep, you know they're the team to beat. All that we need to know is whether the coach is as obnoxious as they usually are."

"No problem there," Chanice quipped. It was at this moment that the control room door swung open behind her. "Excuse me, I was told Shermer's new coach was up here?" asked a white haired man wearing a black Kenilworth Wolves jacket.

"That's me, I'm Buck Russell. And I'm guessing you must be Dick Richards?" Buck walked towards him with his hand extended.

"I'm Coach Richards, yes," he confirmed it for him, not shaking his hand, "What happened to Ted Bartholomew? I didn't hear of any health issues there."

"Oh, he realized he had to quit for the good of the team, and I took over. Anyway, since I guess you came up to say hello and wish us luck, I wish your guys luck too, and if you do get your one thousandth win today, it'll be an honor to be part of the big moment," Buck forced his hand into Richards' and shook it.

"I hope so. Well, I've got to get going; WGN's interviewing me downstairs. Just wanted to meet the competition...well, Chanice Kobalowski," he finally noticed her standing next to him, "I haven't seen you in twenty years. Is that your tire store on West Eighty-Ninth?"

"Yes, it is," she said coolly, and Buck could see an expression of hatred starting to form on her face, "And I think I turned out very well, thank you very much."

"I would think so. Didn't really see you leaving Chicago much. Oh well, like I said, I'll be on my way; hopefully this'll be a big day for me," Richards sauntered out the door. "Right. Well, George, we'd better get going; got to give the team their new uniforms before we go on," Buck told his friend. "Ready, Cecil?" he scratched his dog, now wearing a Snowy Owls jersey of his own, behind the ears. Cecil let out a bark. "Good, let's do it," Buck took the leash from Chanice, noticing the fury on her face. "Do you and Coach Richards have a history, Chanice?" he asked, following her out the door and down the stairs to the convention center floor.

"Well, you'd probably find out one way or another, Buck," she seemed resigned to him knowing, "When I was nine, we lived on the edge of Kenilworth. The winters were especially cold in the years before that, and I'd taken to skating a lot. Kenilworth had started taking off then, and I wanted to join the team. Richards refused to let me on, even after my mother signed all the paperwork. He kept coming up with reasons to not give me a uniform, and whenever I'd show up for a practice, he'd pretend I wasn't there at all. Finally, after a month, he cornered me by the door when I tried to come in and all but ordered me to go home and never come back, that there was no place for girls on his team. I went in, but he had the team leave the ice immediately. They stayed at the concession stand until I gave up and left," her shoulders crumpled, and her expression gave way to sadness, "We moved not long after that to Chicago proper, and I never took up the game again, until now, of course."

"Chanice, I'm sorry," Buck but a sympathetic arm around her, "I didn't know..."

"You think that was something I was going to share casually with you unless I had to, Buck?" she gave him two raised eyebrows, "I've got a good business and good life now, yes, but I can't help wondering if things would have been different...and look at them, celebrating his so-called career," she pointed furiously at Richards standing before TV camera by the nearest wall, being interviewed by a WGN sports reporter. "...after I got back from the war, I got an offer to coach in Oak Park," he was saying, "I lasted three years there, but I knew I wanted something bigger. So when the position at Kenilworth came up, I took it, and the rest is history."

"Do you have a favorite title, Coach Richards?" the reporter asked him.

"Hard to say; all of them are great, but the first was the best. That was confirmation that I was here to stay."

"Do you have anything to say to the viewing public in regards to your impending one thousandth career win?"

"The same thing I've always said: work hard, stay in school, and you'll be your best," Richards said almost robotically, "In forty-nine years of coaching, all my players have graduated high school and college, and four have gone on to play professionally. I'm walking with them, and I'm proud of it, to know I was the driving influence in their lives. And today, we're not just going to beat Shermer to get that one thousandth win, but win it impressively, for them and for all the great residents of Kenilworth..."

"Let's go, I've heard enough," looking disgusted, Chanice dragged Buck off. "The great residents of Kenilworth," she grumbled his words mockingly, "He took the job to rub elbows with the rich and powerful, nothing else. And he was certainly the driving influence in all the kids that didn't meet his standards that he yelled at to get off his ice and never come back. I saw poor Mark Gordon get verbally abused and chased off while I was trying out for the team; I wonder if that's why he committed suicide after he dropped out of college..."

She fell silent, seething with rage. "Well, let's hope age mellowed the guy out," Buck offered, "If not, well, we'll just rain on his parade for this one game...ah, good, Roger's uncle got what I asked for," he heard the sound of hooting from inside the Shermer locker room ahead. His players were gathered around Roger, who had a large snowy owl in hand, petting it. "This was the one they had at the nature preserve that could fly well, Buck," Roger told him, holding the owl up to his friend, "His name's Woody, and they said he'll take flight once his carrying case is open," he held up a large wooden box with two front doors.

"Let's hope so; he's a big part of what I've got in mind for the intro...YEEEEOOOOOOOWWWWW!" Buck howled. For Woody had bitten his finger when he'd tried to pet it. He waved his finger around in agony. "Obviously we have some getting used to each other to do," he mumbled. "OK team, gather round," he waved his players close, "That was a good warmup earlier, now it's time for the best game of your lives. No one out there thinks we have a chance to stop Kenilworth, but I believe in you all. And I know in my heart you're going to pull the mother of all upsets today. Now are you ready?"

"Ready when you are, UB," Miles told him with a thumbs-up.

"Good. Now before we go out, we've got a gift for all of you: your brand new uniforms, courtesy of Coach Kobalowski's cousin, and of Maizy here, who designed them," Buck smiled at his niece, who on cue opened a large box next to where she was sitting, revealing the new uniforms inside. Buck held up the one on top, a combination of blue, white, and purple, and with a scowling, angular snowy owl dropping a puck onto the icy words SNOWY OWLS, which were cracking from the impact. "This one's yours, Tyler," he handed it to him, having noticed the name OAKS on the back, "Everyone come get yours, and treasure it well."

The players eagerly snatching up their uniforms and put them on. Everyone set? All right, then," Buck shooed Woody the snowy owl back into his carrying box, closed the doors, and hefted it high, "Time to hit the ice and pull the biggest upset in the history of suburban Chicago hockey...uh, no, Skylar, not that way," he called to the reserve defenseman, who had turned to the left out of the locker room to make his way to the ice, "I came up with a grander way to make our entrance onto the ice, so everyone follow me," he waved the team to the right instead. He led them down the hall deeper into the depths of the convention center, them turned right at the next corner and down another hall until he reached the elevators. He pressed the up button. "What've you got in mind, Coach?" Skylar asked him.

"You'll see it when we get there-all aboard!" Buck declared as the elevator door swung open. Everyone crowded into the elevator-so tightly that Buck found it hard to move, and had to strain to hit the button for the third floor. "This is a mistake already, Buck," Chanice groused, pinned into the corner of the elevator by the other coaches.

"Well, maybe next time we'll spread it out over both elevators," Buck partially agreed with her on this one. With a ding, the elevator arrived at the concourse thirty seconds later. The Snowy Owls tumbled out of the elevator, nearly taking out some bystanders. "Sorry, sorry, our first time with this intro," Buck apologized to them. He waved everyone to follow him along the concourse, leading them halfway around the building to the southwest corner, where a velvet rope now blocked off a rudimentary tunnel made from a tarp and several poles. Buck unlocked the rope and walked into the tunnel, stopping at the edge before an iced ramp leading down to the ice. At the top of it, a stuffed snowy owl was sitting on a pedestal. "OK, here's how it's going to go," Buck turned to his players behind him, "When Mr. Patchko up in the booth gives your name, run out and skate down the ramp to the rink, being sure to touch the owl for its mystical powers. The rest of you who aren't starting, follow me and the other coaches down. Now there'll be smoke blowing, so just be careful when you go through. Any questions?"

"How much are Clemson and Miami going to sue us for copyright infringement too?" Chanice grumbled. Buck again paid no attention. "All right, let's give the signal to get going," he dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a small laser. He pointed it up at the convention center's projection booth and flashed the laser at George, who promptly boomed, "GOOOOOOOOOOD afternoon, hockey fans, and welcome, for the very first time, to the beautiful Shermer Convention Center for today's matchup between the Kenilworth Wolves and YOOOOOOOOUUR Shermer Snowy Owls! Today's game is brought to you, as always, by Kobalowski Tires at 19 West Eighty-Ninth Street in the heart of downtown Chicago; for the best deals in tires, you can do it with Kobalowski. And now, the starting lineup for the visiting Kenilworth Wolves..."

"See, everything works out, Chanice, and you get a good plug," Buck gave his fiancé a grin, "Now the public's going to beat a path to your door, especially after we win this game."

"Just so we look good enough for people to want to shop with us," she mumbled. Buck gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "OK Michael, you're going out first, so get ready," he told the left winger, gesturing him forward. He flashed the laser again at the rink crew below to open the door to the ice, right as George finished introducing Coach Richards as the Wolves' skipper. "All right, here we go. Lights..." he pointed towards the arena just as all the lights were turned out to the loud cries of fans who weren't expecting it, "Smoke..." he pointed again as jets of smoke started billowing from each side of the tunnel's exit, obscuring the view of the ice below. "Smoke illumination..." he pointed a third time as a blue glow lit up the smoke, "Strobes and chasers..." he looked up to see the glow of the lights now flashing along the top of the tunnel, "Roll the intro..." he raised Woody's box, listening to the familiar sound of wind howling through clouds and the honking of car horns, signaling the introductory video was now running, "And...you're on, Woody!"

He pulled the release cord to open the box-but Woody was sound asleep inside. "Come on, Woody, it's time to fly, wake up!" Buck shook the box wildly, but the owl remained asleep, "Come on, everyone's waiting for you out there; we're paying your preserve for this!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNND NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW, THE STARTING LINEUP FOR YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUURRRR SHERMER SNOWY OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWLLLLSSSSSS!" George roared excitedly over the PA system. "Ah, forget it!" Buck tossed the box to the ground, which still did not disturb the sleeping snowy owl inside. "Stand by, Michael," he advised the first starter, who got set to skate at the edge of the smoke, seconds before George declared, "At left wing, number seventy-seven, the Lightning Laser, Michael Larson!" Michael rushed through the smoke-and seconds later, a loud bang and cry, plus crowd laughter, rang out. "Dooohh!" Buck groaned, slapping a hand to his face, "Should have put the owl stand off to the side more!"

"At center, number eighty-nine, he can streak like a rocket for miles, Miles Russell!" George continued the intros without a breather. "Uh, stay to the left, Miles," Buck advised his nephew, who nodded and skated past him through the smoke. "You go to the right, Aaron," he told the right winger, who stepped next into the go position, "We'll alternate left and right going on from here on."

"At right wing, number ninety, the Ace of all Space, Aaron Gieseke!" came the latest intro. Aaron zoomed down the ramp without a hitch. Buck took a relieved breath. "OK, minor problem solved," he mumbled to himself, listening to the intros, "At left guard, number sixty-seven, the King of Pain, Kayla O'Sullivan! At right guard, he's strong as a tree, number eighty-three, T-T-Tyler Oaks! At goaltender, number six, the Brick Wall, Larry Bartholomew...!"

"Get ready everyone, it's time for all of us to go on!" Buck stepped to the edge of the drop. At the sound of, "and the rest of YOOOOOOUUUUR SHERMER SNOWY OOOOOOOOOOWWWWWLSSSS!" he let out and enthusiastic, "Let's gooooooooo!" and rushed through the smoke with the remaining players...

...when he abruptly slipped on the iced ramp and toppled head over heels down the ramp, taking out the rest of the players and coaches like bowling pins on the way down. They landed in a heap at the bottom of the ramp, sliding onto the ice with loud laughter from the fans. "The Snowy Owls are coached by Buck Russell, assisted by Chanice Kobalowski, E. Roger Coswell, Lloyd Quinlan, and Rocco Miller," George put the finishing touch on the introductions. The convention center's lights blazed back on-right as the fireworks Buck had ordered to have set up along the ramp went off superfluously too late, and, from the tunnel above, Woody finally took belated flight, landing right on Buck's face. "Sure, rub it in," he snorted at the owl, "You've only embarrassed yourself with this, though!"

Louder laughter came from behind him. "You're amusing, really," Coach Richards was standing over him, snorting with heavy laughter, "I know your team has to do something to get itself noticed, and this whole hilarious spectacle is the best thing any Shermer team's done in years. Well, I hope you enjoy the moment; it'll be the high point of your day."

"Don't you have a team to give a pre-game talk to!?" Chanice glared at him.

"In a moment, Kobalowski. Up we go," Richards strained to lift Buck back to his feet. "Well, good luck," he voluntarily shook his opponent's hand (Buck wondered how much the fact the WGN camera crew was filming the moment had to do with Richards's hospitality), "You're going to need it today."

He walked away, trying to fight back heavy laughter. Buck found himself sharing Chanice's glare after the other coach. "Like I said, Chanice, we're going to pull a huge upset on this guy," he told her.

"Please do, Buck," she looked galvanized now, "For Mark Gordon, and everyone else he's humiliated over the years, let's all do it."


	6. Chapter 6

"Let's win the faceoff, let's start out on the right foot here," Buck called encouragement to Miles, skating to the faceoff circle against Kenilworth's center, who towered over him. Growling, this boy won the faceoff and knocked Miles down to the ice, then passed to his ring winger, who put on a burst of speed and went straight for the Shermer goal. "Hold, hold, hold...!" Buck mumbled under his breath, hoping the experiment with Larry in goal would work. The winger fired-and Larry did in fact successfully knock it aside. "Good, good," he breathed a sigh of relief, "Clear it out, clear it out," he called to his defenders. Tyler got to the puck, but it bounced off his stick before he could properly clear it. Another Kenilworth winger got to it quickly and fired on goal, which Larry just managed to stop with his stick. He then dove flat to the ice to block the goal, swallowing up the puck. The whistle blew. "Encouraging, encouraging," Buck nodded, digging out his pipe and lighting it. "Charlie, while you're here," he turned to the bespectacled boy, "Do you think it's about time we break out some of your secret plays?"

"Sure thing, Coach," Charlie looked eager to try them out, "What are we starting with?"

"I think the Cigarette Lighter would be a good start, if we can get the puck out of our end-watch the back door!" Buck called out a warning to his defenders as Kenilworth won the faceoff and took another shot on goal. Larry swiped it down, and Kayla intercepted it and fired it hard up ice, then chased after it, plowing into a Kenilworth defender that tried to get in her way. He staggered, but remained on his feet. Sweeping past the Shermer forwards in a flash, she fired at the Kenilworth net, but the Wolves' goalie smothered the puck in his glove. It was then that a Kenilworth defender, looking miffed at having been outraced by a girl, checked her down to the ice from behind. Kayla immediately leaped back to her feet, raced after him, spun him around before he could reach the puck, and kicked him hard in the genitalia. Shrieking, the Wolves defender doubled over in agony, his scream matching the frequency of the referee's whistle. "That's a five minute penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct," he declared, gesturing Kayla to the penalty box. Buck put both hands over his face. "Barely two minutes into the game, and we end up shorthanded!" he lamented, trudging over to the penalty box, where Kayla sat down with her arms folded across her chest in disgust. "Uh, honey, I'm glad you're willing to defend yourself so well, but there's some things you just can't do on the ice no matter how warranted it can be, and that was one of them," he told her.

"I'm not going to be pushed around by any boys," Kayla declared firmly, "I came here to play hard, and I will."

"And that's good; just from now on, not so violently hard," Buck advised her, "See you in five minutes."

He bustled back up the bench. "Stay firm, stay firm," he called out, turning to see Bob and Cindy seated a few rows behind the bench and flashing them a quick thumbs up. "Get possession...get possession...got it," he nodded once Michael had taken control of the puck and started up ice, "Time for the old bag of tricks."

He bent down and held up a large piece of cardboard with pictures of a slice of ham, a belfry, Albert Einstein, and a steamroller on it over his head. "Uh, Coach, that's not the signal sheet for the Cigarette Lighter," Charlie tugged on his coat, "That's the Ski Jump."

"It is?" Buck frowned, taking the cardboard down and staring at it, "I could have sworn..."

"What's the play, Coach?" Michael called from the ice, Kenilworth players converging around him.

"Um..." Buck desperately shuffled through the various cardboard sheets he brought with him, "This one?" he held up one with Elroy Jetson, a cornfield, Millard Fillmore, and a cow. Charlie shook his head at that one, plus the next one Buck held up with a screwdriver, a swing set, the Pink Panther, and a chocolate chip cookie. "Coach...!" Michael was desperately trying to spin away from defenders while the rest of his team simply stood watching in confusion, unsure of which play to run. Frantic, Buck simply held up all the play signals at once, which only made the Snowy Owls all frown in complete confusion-and allowed a huge Wolves defender to check Michael hard into the boards and take the puck off him. He charged hard down the ice, and Tyler, the only one left on defense, was forced to hook the other player's leg with his stick to stop him from scoring. The referee's whistle rang out again. "Two minutes for tripping," he declared, gesturing for Michael to join Kayla in the penalty box. "Sorry, sorry, I forget which sheet was which," Buck admitted sheepishly to his starting left winger.

"Buck, I said to simplify the damn plays!" Chanice grumbled, holding up all the sheets in disgust.

"Well we can't let the other team know what our signals are, Chanice, and if we labeled them, that would be a dead giveaway," Buck rationalized.

"I've got it, it's this one," Charlie held up the correct cardboard piece for the Cigarette Lighter, which had a bus, Saturn, Mount Rushmore, and a frog on it. "Right, right, got it, bus and Saturn, bus and Saturn..." Buck tried to memorize it, "We'll just run it next chance we get-coming at you, Larry!" he shouted a warning to his goaltender, but it was at that moment the Wolves' center fired from mid-ice, far too fast for Larry to have a chance to stop it. The puck plowed into the back of the net, triggering the goal siren and cheers from the black-clad Kenilworth fans in the stands. "OK, not a big deal, we were shorthanded anyway," Buck tried to shrug it off. "Line change," he told the reserves, "Pass the word to try the Cigarette Lighter-the bus and Saturn-the first chance we get," he told Charlie, leaping over the railing. Charlie nodded at him and whispered the instructions to the rest of the Snowy Owls on the ice. As it was, he in fact found the puck heading his way after the faceoff. The rest of the formed a box around him, at which point he fired outside to Aaron, skating to the left of the box. The formation moved up the ice in unison. "Light the cigarette!" Buck commanded, grabbing his own pipe to keep it from falling out of his mouth. Aaron skidded to a halt while the other players moved forward, and fired the puck towards Charlie, who shot out of the defensive box like a flame springing from a lighter. He fired at the net in a flash, but the Kenilworth goaltender smacked it away-but straight towards Aaron, who fired and scored. "Yeah! Yeah! Not exactly how the play was supposed to work, but yeah!" Buck declared, high fiving Roger next to him.

"The kid's a genius, Buck; might as well name him a junior assistant," Roger suggested, high fiving Charlie as well when he skated past the bench.

"We'll see. "Keep it up, Snowy Owls; we've got them off guard!" Buck told the team-indeed, he could see a stunned look on Coach Richards' face on the opposing bench. "Skylar," he pulled the boy aside, "You said you wanted to be an ace figure skater? When you get the puck, head towards their goal and pop the best move in your repertoire. I've got another idea."

He whispered in in Skylar's ear. Skylar nodded with a grin and resumed his position for the next faceoff. Kenilworth won this faceoff as well and moved down for a shot on goal, but Larry was able to deflect three shots in a row. He fired up the ice-and hastily dove to stop another shot when the puck went straight to a Wolves forward. The whistle blew for a faceoff. Kenilworth won again, but Miles zoomed in and fired it clean up the ice. It rolled around behind the Kenilworth goal and down the far side, past the Wolves' defenders-and Buck noticed Skylar streaking towards it. "Now, Skylar, now!" he called out. Skylar tapped the puck hard, then pulled a spectacular spinning triple lock through the air that brought gasps of amazement from the crowd, and Kenilworth's defenders to a surprised standstill. Skylar landed next to the puck, and, seeing the defenders in shock, quickly fired it at a rapidly advancing Tyler, who slapped it hard past the distracted goaltender for the second score of the game. "Yeeeeee-haaaaaaawwww!" Buck proclaimed, turning to where he'd seen Mayor Oaks sitting earlier in the game and flashing the man two thumbs up. The mayor managed a small, reserved smile then rose and gave his son a strong ovation for the score...

...and ovation quickly ended when one of the Kenilworth defenders furiously hammered him down to the ice from behind. The whistle blew again. "Two minutes for unnecessary roughing," the referee declared.

"WHAT!?" the Kenilworth player shouted.

"It's all right, Robertson, just go on in," Richards told his player. Buck could now see what looked like an undercurrent of disgust on his opposing coach's face. And it became quite clear that the Wolves were feeling the same way as their coach, for they plowed straight over the Shermer players like a tidal wave when the puck was next dropped and charged straight for the Snowy Owl goal. Outmanned a good five to one, Larry gamely dove to try and stop the first shot, but that proved to be a fake, and the Kenilworth center passed to his left winger the moment Larry hit the ice in the wrong direction. The left winger fired into the open goal to tie the score. The buzzer rang to end the first period seconds after the goal buzzer rang. "Good first half, good first half," Buck commended his players. He handed Cecil's leash to Tia. "You know the routine?" he asked his niece.

"As long as he cooperates," she frowned at Cecil with a dubious expression.

"Score at the end of one period, Kenilworth one, Shermer one," George declared over the PA system, "And now, for your intermission pleasure, sit back and enjoy the antics of the one and only hockey hound, Air Cecil!"

"Go get them, Cecil, you're on," Buck patted his pet on the hindquarters. Cecil, however, lay day on the bench floor and refused to get up. "Not you too! Come on, Cecil, do it for the old Bucker; you're making me looking bad as well as yourself!" Buck prodded him hard.

Cecil yawned, bored, and rolled over. "I'll do what I can," Tia rolled her eyes, "Better give everyone the pep talk. But you know," she added as he turned to go, "I think you might be right; we might be able to pull this off."

"That's what I've been telling everyone, and I think we've got them scared," Buck glanced at the worried looks on the faces of the Kenilworth players as they trudged off the ice, "Just got to keep hammering away, and we'll make them crack. I just hope Cecil's halftime show doesn't fall flat."

* * *

The loud booing that greeted Buck when he led the Snowy Owls back onto the ice was a strong hint that Cecil's intermission act had failed in its first attempt-the sight of Tia trying to drag the uncooperative dog off the ice, still laying on his stomach and showing no interest in the hoops and hockey pucks lined up for him to use, was a good indicator as well. He made a mental note to work on the intermission show later on. For now, though, the important thing was to keep up the pressure on the Wolves, he knew.

And surprisingly, the scored did remain tied at one apiece as the clock reached the three minute mark of the third period. And the Kenilworth players seemed to be checking the Shermer players harder and harder each time a Snowy Owl got the puck-as was the case now, as Ricky was driven very hard into the boards by a pair of Wolves. "Not so rough there!" Buck called out to them in disgust. He dumped a load of additional tobacco into his pipe and re-lit it, taking a few nervous puffs. "What do you think this calls for?" he bent down and asked Charlie to his left.

"Well, we haven't tried the Volcano yet. I think now might be the time for that," Charlie offered.

"OK, we'll give it a shot. "Time," Buck signaled for a timeout-fortunately right before a Kenilworth player could take a shot on Shermer's goal. "All right, you guys are doing great," he commended his team, "Now we just need to go for the kill. Next chance you get the puck off these guys, set up for the Volcano."

"Did we perfect that yet, Buck?" Rocco frowned, "The last time we tried that in practice..."

"Yeah, I know, but things are bound to get better from there. Now it doesn't matter who the last player is, just be prepared to use Coach Miller's speed drills to get the fastest shot at the goal. Go get them," Buck slapped hands with everyone as the whistle sounded to resume play. "This'll be the neckbreaker, Chanice," he optimistically told his fiancé.

"Or the big disaster," she mumbled, but nonetheless leaned forward across the railing with eager anticipation as the puck dropped. Kenilworth's forwards skated back towards the Shermer goal, passing back and forth between each other. The right winger fired, but was knocked away by Larry, as too was the left wing on the rebound. Buck glanced up at the clock, now under two minutes, and took more nervous puffs on his pipe. The Volcano was among the most complex trick plays Charlie had helped draw up, and if just one player's timing was off, the whole play could collapse in confusion.

Nevertheless, he vowed to himself, it was going to work today when it counted the most. And he found himself leaning forward in anticipation too as Zachary blocked the latest shot from a Kenilworth guard and took possession of the puck. "Now, now, now!" he gave the command. Zachary zoomed behind the Shermer goal, where everyone else formed a defensive V-shaped wall in front of him. They started up the ice in unison. "Start the eruption!" Buck told them. Michael, in front of Zachary, dropped back and took the puck from him while Zachary moved up to his position. He then in turned dropped it back to Aaron, who dropped it back to Tyler, who suddenly shot forward out of the wall-but unfortunately, there was too little space for him to maneuver through, and he accidentally brought everyone in front of him down with him to the ice in a large heap. Buck groaned and slapped both hands to his face. "And we had it just right too!" he lamented.

"It's not over yet, Uncle Buck; look!" Maizy called to him. Buck looked up in time to see Miles skate forward like a rocket past his fallen team members, seize control of the puck and fire-right past the laughing Kenilworth goaltender for a score. "YEAH!" Buck yelled in delight, "Like I said, brilliant plan, Chanice!" he hugged her close.

"As long as the lead holds, I guess so," was the best she could say. Buck took another look at the clock: fifty-five seconds to hold the Wolves off. "It's all you, defense; take us home for the upset of the century," he urged the Snowy Owls on. Kenilworth had now pulled their goaltender for an extra attacker, and all six players swarmed down the ice and started firing shot after shot after shot at the Shermer goal. Larry, however, managed to swat each one away, smothering the final one with just twelve seconds left. "Win the faceoff..." Buck begged...and indeed, Michael did and cleared it far down the ice to a loud cheer from the home crowd. "That should do it! Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...!" Buck yelled in delight once the clock hit zero. "You did it!" he swarmed his players happily on the ice as they jumped into each other's arms, ecstatic, "Didn't I'd say you could do it!?"

"You sure did, Coach, and it feels great!" Ricky high-fived him.

"Coach Russell, how does it feel to have pulled off such a big win?" one of the reporters that had been sitting behind the Kenilworth bench, presuming in expectation of Coach Richards getting win number one thousand, rushed over and thrust a microphone in his face.

"It feels great," Buck declared, letting out another happy whoop, "I told my kids all week that if they believed in themselves, they could do what no one thought they could do, and as you can see, they did."

Swarms of other reporters came running after the first one, leaving the stunned Wolves all alone. "What was your game plan in getting this together, Coach?" another reporter asked.

"Catching them overconfident and by surprise, and working to the best of our abilities. And of course, special thanks to my nephew Miles for that game-winning goal," Buck rubbed his shoulder with deep pride, "He wasn't sure he wanted to continue playing around the time I took over as coach, but he's done great thus far."

"What do you think you'll do for an encore?"

"We'll wait and see. Last I saw, we're still eligible for the title, so watch out, Chicago Junior Hockey, the Snowy Owls are alive and well and coming for the gold!"

* * *

"They say America is the land of opportunity, where anything can happen. Today, you guys proved it and then some," Buck congratulated his team in the locker room, "So I think this calls for a big reward; for everyone who wants to go, we're going to have ice cream at The Freeze once you're all ready to go, how about that!?"

Loud cheers from his players gave him affirmation. "All right then, I'll see everyone there," Buck told them all. He took hold of Cecil's leash. "We're going to have to work on your halftime show over the next week, Cecil, but all in all a great day," he told the dog, leading him towards the locker room door, "I'll see if I can get some ice cream to go for you at The Freeze; you're a part of the team too."

He stepped out into the hall and took a deep, satisfied breath. "For once in this life, Buck, you're definitely a winner," he told himself contentedly. "Hey, Coach Richards," he noticed the Wolves' coach trudging up the hall ahead of him and walked up to the old man, "I'd just like to say, good game, and hope you get win number on thousand next time for..."

Rage plastered all over his face, Richards spun around, grabbed Buck by his coat collar, and shoved him hard against the wall. "You listen and you listen good, you piece of filth!" he angrily told the opposing coach, "This game was my big moment, my party, MY special day, and you made me look like a fool in front of all of Chicago! I've worked forty-nine years to reach this milestone, and I did not need to be humiliated like this!"

"Well, uh, sorry you feel that way, but, um, I guess that's just the way the game goes..." Buck tried to rationalize.

"Shut the hell up!" Richards roared, pushing him harder against the wall, " _Nobody_ embarrasses Dick Richards and gets away with it, and I mean nobody! You've just made yourself a marked man, mister; I'm going to get you for this if it's the last thing I ever do!"

"Come on, there's no need to react like this!" Buck protested, trying to squirm out of Richards' grip, "Besides, this is the last time we'll play your team in the regular season, so there's no way you can..."

"Oh I'll get back at you if I want to; I always can!" Richards thundered, finally releasing his grip, "And I always payback on people who screw me over in the end. So watch your back, buster; I'm going to get justice on you when you least expect it, and you can count on that as a fact!"

"Hey, what are you doing!?" Chanice was storming up the hall, glaring furiously at Richards, "Don't take your frustration out on Buck because this was one game where you couldn't overpower the other team, Richards!"

"You watch your tongue with me, Kobalowski! Lest you forget, I'm a god in this sport, and you're just as much a nothing as you were all those years ago when you couldn't take the hint I didn't need you to win," Richards thrust an accusing finger at her, "Like I told your friend here, you and he and your team will pay for humiliating me, and nothing you can do will stop it. Consider yourself officially warned."

He turned and stomped off in a rage. "I think I was wrong earlier, Chanice," Buck shivered, "Apparently age didn't mellow him out after all."

"That what I've been saying, Buck," Chanice shook her head in disgust, "We might have just made the wrong man angry; when Dick Richards wants revenge, he gets it, no matter what it takes."

"Lovely; two weeks on the job and I've got two opposing coaches furious at me," Buck shook his own head, "Oh well, we'll just have to keep an eye open, although I don't see what he can do, especially when we're not playing him again."

"You'd be surprised," Chanice gave him a wary look.

"Oh well. Now's not the time to worry about that. Now's the time to celebrate a big win," Buck's expression grew brighter, "And because I love you, honey, I'll buy your ice cream for you. This is going to be start of something big, like I've said all this time."


	7. Chapter 7

"...a Chicago area legend will have to wait a little longer to reach a coveted milestone, as Kenilworth youth hockey coach Dick Richards was denied his one thousandth career win in an upset loss to the team from Shermer," the WGN sports anchor related to the public. "That's us, and you can take it to the bank!" Roger declared enthusiastically from inside Buck's living room, "And we've got this little guy to thank for it," he leaned over to give Miles, who was finishing off the rest of his king-sized ice cream, a high five.

"Well, the whole team did it," Miles said modestly, taking another bite of his ice cream, "Still, it feels good to be the hero."

"I'm sure it does," Buck rubbed his nephew's hair proudly. It was at this time a car horn blew outside. "Ah, that's your parents," he told Miles and his sisters, who all rose from their armchairs, "Take care and see you all Monday."

"Good night, Uncle Buck," Maizy told him with a big grin, following her older siblings out. "Might as well head on off too," Roger rose up as well, "Lloyd and Rocco said to meet them at the Dill Pickle to celebrate once I was done here. Sure you don't want to come too?"

"Nah, if I'm going to drink, better drink here. Don't have too much, Roger; Lloyd's probably going to have a little too much to celebrate," Buck mused with a shake of the head.

"Yeah, I know," Roger agreed, "Hey, been meaning to say, Jimmy Bean called again last night; he was wondering if he could get tickets to next Saturday's home game..."

"Uh, no, Roger, can't do that," Buck shook his head emphatically, "And I'll have to say no; Jimmy's not the right person I want around those kids."

"But the two of you go so far back..."

"I know, but I said I'm going to be presentable and respectable as coach; a gambling czar like Jimmy's not the right person to get involved in youth hockey. I'll make it up to him over the summer, okay?"

"Well, all right, but he's not going to be happy, Buck," Roger shrugged in resignation, "Have a good night."

"Night, Roger; oh, and stop by Lutz's and put me down for 2-4-8 for the Pick 3, 0-0-2-2 for the Pick 4," Buck requested, "I got a feeling those numbers'll be lucky tonight."

"Sure thing. Night, Buck," his friend left. Buck exhaled happily and slid down into the nearest armchair. "Have some more, Cecil; we earned it," he poured more beer into his dog's water dish, which Cecil eagerly lapped up, "Best day I've had in a good long while. Let's do some more research while we're at it," he switched to ESPN, which was at that moment in fact carrying a Blackhawks game, "We're going to build on this to become a lean, mean scoring machine, and nothing can stop us now."

* * *

At that moment, a car was pulling to a stop inside a dark downtown Chicago parking garage. Its driver got out, adjusted his dark glasses, and looked around. "Bartholomew," came Coach Richards's hiss from the far wall. The Kenilworth coach was standing in the shadows, a grim look on his face. "Glad you came when I called," he told his former player when he approached.

"You know I promised I'd do anything for you, Coach," Ted Bartholomew lowered his dark glasses, 'But I don't know why we have to do this cloak and dagger stuff..."

"I'm playing it safe. Now I'm sure you saw what happened to me earlier today," Richards leaned forward into the light, a hateful scowl on his face, "I don't know what that fat buffoon Russell did to force you out as Shermer's coach, or how he got those losers into that good of shape when they haven't done anything right all year before, but I won't let him get away with humiliating me like he did."

"Well, I wasn't at the game, Coach; I made it very clear to Larry I'm not coming as long as Russell's his coach. But I heard what happened. Don't get too worked up, though; it was probably more a freak accident than anything else. Your guys probably got overconfident or..."

"I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO...!" Richards started to roar, then caught himself, glanced around to see if anyone had heard him, then turned back to Bartholomew and hissed, "I was not supposed to lose that game, Bartholomew, not to a louse like him who's an embarrassment to the game! That was my moment in the sun, and I'm going to get him back as good as I can for ruining it for me. And I need your help with that."

"What do you want me to do, Coach?"

"Ruin Russell," Richards's eyes grew darker, if such a thing were possible, "I want him wiped out and driven out of this league in humility so I can enjoy my laurels in peace. Find me anything on the man that we can use to discredit him and drive him out, and stop those upstart losers cold in their tracks. Do it well, Bartholomew, and I'll make sure you can coach your son again-there's lots of room for people to move to here in Kenilworth, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do," Bartholomew nodded, "Well, I'll do what I can, Coach; I want him down in the gutter for driving me out too."

"Good, we're on the same page," Richards grinned, "Just make sure he falls as hard as possible; I'm supposed to be the center of attention in this league for all I've done for it, and by God, I'm going to make sure I am. Nobody beats Dick Richards even once and gets away unscathed."

* * *

"Looks like we've got a bigger crowd this week, Buck," Roger declared, scanning the Shermer Convention Center's stands from the end of the tunnel to the ice the following Saturday, "I think what we pulled off against Kenilworth turned some heads."

"Yeah, I see," Buck looked over the much larger crowd himself, "A couple new faces-there's Tom Bueller with his family; guess Bob invited them to come. And there's Jack Walsh and his daughter-surprised they could afford it, though."

"And Mr. Griswold's over there behind the Glencoe bench," Maizy pointed to the family that lived a few houses down from hers. "Yeah, I see," Buck squinted, "Glad to see him here; I heard he played briefly back in the day. Oh well, let's get the show on the road."

He dug into his coat for the laser and flashed it up at the press box again, prompting George's latest intro: "Good afternoon again, hockey fans, and welcome once more to the beautiful Shermer Convention Center for today's matchup between the Glencoe Cardinals and YOOOOOOOUUURRR Shermer Snowy Owls! Today's game is, as always sponsored by Kobalowski Tires..." "OK team," he turned to his players, "I know it'll be easy to have a letdown after the big win last week, but try and stay focused. Glencoe's record might be bad, but don't look past them. We're still eligible for the playoffs; we don't want to lose it against a bad team."

"We're ready, Coach; we can take on the world," Aaron declared confidently.

"Good, that's what I want to hear. And as for you," Buck held Woody the snowy owl's carrying case up to his face, "I want to see some action from you, after everyone else went the extra mile last week. Let's try and get this intro right this time."

The convention center's lights went out-this time to a loud cheer-signaling it was time for Shermer's entrance. Buck stepped back as the smoke started billowing in front of the tunnel exit. "You'll notice I got them to install railings for you this time, so you can hold on when you skate down," he told the Snowy Owls, "And the stuffed owl's off to the left, so you won't run into it when you touch it."

"AAAAAAANNND NOOOOW, THE STARTING LINEUP FOR YOOOOOOOUUURRR SHERMERRRRRR SNOOOOOOWWWWYYYYYY OOOOOOOOOOWLS!" George roared, prompting an even louder cheer from the crowd. "Hit it, Woody!" Buck opened the snowy owl's carrying case again-and a still sound asleep Woody tumbled out to the ground. "Not again!" he groaned, and quickly picked the owl up and tossed him through the smoke. A low splat could be heard on the other side; Woody was still not taking flight. "Damn it. Just watch you don't run him over, Michael," he advised his left winger, who nodded and rushed through the smoke as his name was announced. The rest of the starting lineup followed in turn. "Let's go!" Buck turned to lead the reserves out down...

...but his foot clipped the edge of the pole holding up the tunnel, tripping him and pulling the tunnel over. With loud cries, he, the other coaches, and the reserves tumbled down the iced ramp to the rink, dragging the tunnel and pedestal with the stuffed owl with them. As with the previous week, they landed in a heap at the bottom, Woody only then taking flight-this time choosing to relieve himself on Buck's face as he flew over the head coach's head. Buck groaned and wiped it off. "OK, still some more bugs to work out," he acknowledged.

"I think we need a whole new intro, Buck," Chanice grumbled, hauling herself to her feet. "Line up for the national anthem," she informed everyone else. Buck himself snapped to attention until the anthem had finished, then sauntered towards the Shermer bench. "OK, like I said, everyone stay focused," he instructed the Snowy Owls, "Don't take Glencoe for granted. I want to start out with a bang, something to equal an onside kick on the opening kickoff. Charlie, what do you think would work best?" he asked his junior play master."

"I think the Crab Claw would be the best bet for that, Coach, since we haven't tried it yet," Charlie suggested, "Got to get possession after the faceoff, though."

"All right, Crab Claw it is. And that's...?" Buck frowned at the play boards. Charlie gestured at one featuring the Taj Mahal, Bluto, a gas station, and a Christmas tree. "Right, of course. So lets win the faceoff, guys. Hands in," Buck put his hands on top of his players', "One, two, three...!"

"SHERMER PRIDE!" they all shouted, the starters skating out for the faceoff. Miles, however, failed to win the drop, and Glencoe's center fired to his right winger. This player started down the ice-but was checked hard by Kayla. She took possession and started up the ice. "OK, pinch the claw!" Buck held up the signal card-specifically, the wrong signal card, which he frantically switched out for the right one. His players formed two prongs on either side of the ice, which they started closing together as they approached the Glencoe goal. Kayla passed to Aaron, who passed to Miles the moment the claw "closed, trapping the Cardinal defenders behind them. Miles fired and was blocked the first time, but nailed the rebound into the net. "YEAH!" Buck pumped his fist, "Finally, everything goes right...Chanice, is that a smile I see?" he noticed what looked like a small one forming on his fiancé's face.

"Uh..." Chanice quickly made her expression more neutral, "No, uh...I'm glad he scored, of course..."

"Well Chanice Kobalowski, I think you're actually enjoying coaching this team," Buck grinned knowingly, "Didn't I say you'd come around eventually?"

"Well, I certainly hope we'll win-but keep in mind, Buck, there's still a whole game to go."

* * *

As it was, however, the Snowy Owls continued their hot start all throughout the game, and Glencoe had no answers for any of Buck's trick plays. He was smiling himself when the final horn sounded, and the scoreboard showed a final score of five to one in Shermer's favor, with Miles getting three of the goals. The crowd gave his players a standing ovation as they celebrated with each other. "Great work, everyone, great work," Buck commended them after shaking hands with the Glencoe coaches, "You guys did wonderful again."

"Does this mean more ice cream?" Skylar asked eagerly.

"Absolutely; I'll give a ride to anyone who needs it. We've got a good little winning streak going now; next goal is to keep it going in Evanston next week. See you all at the ice cream parlor," Buck dismissed them. He skipped over to his starting goaltender. "Larry, I just want to say, you're doing great in goal; I'm glad you decided to come back, since I think we found your natural position...what?"

Larry looked glum. "I just wish my dad could have come to see it," he lamented, "He wants nothing to do with me or this team since you last saw him, told me I'm on my own as long as you're the coach."

"I see. Well, he's making a grave mistake; father's should always be there for their sons at all times," Buck mumbled grimly, "Well, tell you what, Larry; after we celebrate this win, I'll go have a word with him. Clearly he needs a good jolt to be reminded of what's really important."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Coach? You know how much he doesn't like you..."

"When it comes to making sure someone's a father to their kid, Larry, nothing goes too far. He's going to wish he'd been here after I give him a few words."

* * *

Up on the concourse, however, a trench coat and dark glasses clad Ted Bartholomew was dropping a quarter into a payphone. He dialed a number and waited. "Yeah, Coach Richards, I observed the game like you asked," he told Kenilworth's coach, "The first order of business is to take out Russell's nephew. Yeah, he was the big scorer today, and taking him out of the equation might give Russell impetus to quit without us having to go further. Can you do that? Are you sure they'll never know you ordered it? If Larry finds out, I could lose him...all right, if you're sure, and if this is as far as you're willing to go with that; we're running a risk if we go any farther that way..."


End file.
